Every year around this time, Annika and I have discussions about Santa. And they are always ridiculous.
I don’t know if it’s just that my kid is too smart for my lies or if it’s that I’m just saying the wrong things.
Annika doesn’t seem to have this wonderful magical notion about Santa Claus. She’s suspicious of his motives, it seems. (Although, she has no problem accepting his gifts.) And confused about when he shows up.
This year I kept telling her that Christmas comes after Thanksgiving and on Thanksgiving she informed several people that Christmas was, “tomorrow.”
It took me several tries to fix that mistake.
She’s also suspicious about his actual being. I like that she questions him. It is a character trait she got from me even though I have no such memories of wondering about his actual being. I was sure that Santa was real. And very disappointed when I found out that he wasn’t.
But Annika, oh this kid, she was on to me from the very start.
For the past two years, ever since she could talk, she’s asked me if Santa is real. My answer, vague as hell, which probably explains her suspicion, is that, “some people think he’s real.”
But it doesn’t end there.
She needs to know how he gets into our house since we don’t have a chimney. Last year I told her that I stay up and open the door for him.
After that, in her mind, Santa and I were old buddies who must sit around shooting the shit while she’s sleeping.
My story to fix that one just spiraled into a bigger mess.
I told her that even though I stay up and open the door for him, when he’s about to leave, he sprinkles me with magical dust that makes me sleepy and I forget all about him.
“Then how do you remember letting him in?”
Can’t pull anything over on her.