[Tweet “Mom Writes A Letter To Santa”]
What the ever-loving hell? I thought we had a deal, man?! In exchange for me telling my kids some insane story that you show up in the middle of the night with gifts that would appease their impulsive little hearts YOU would put the fear of God into them and eek out good behavior for all of the days that I remembered to let them tick off the days-before-Christmas on that blasted advent calendar.
But NOOOOoooOOOooo! You soured out on your end. My kids are tyrants this time of year. The little turds run around this house like mini-kings demanding stuff and puffing up their chests about all the crazy loot they think Santa is bringing them.
They are certain – beyond any potential explanation that I can sum up – that Santa loves them no matter what devilish little hijinks they get themselves into.
Yesterday my newly minted five-year-old thought it would be SO FUNNY to give his little brother two (TWO! NOT ONE, BUT TWO!!) indelible ink markers. You know what he did?! He drew all over his little belly. And the wall. And the toilet. And my laptop. It took him under 3 minutes to commit this graffiti crime while his big brother distracted me by spilling an entire mug of hot chocolate on the kitchen floor.
Later that same day I had to repeat the same direction to please stop running seven times before my lunatic preschooler slipped and fell into a door jamb, which left a lump on his forehead.
Last night right at bedtime both kids decided it would be more fun to scream than go to bed.
This morning one kid threw a plastic ninja into my cup of coffee. And said nothing. I almost peed my pants after jumping out of my skin when I discovered its left leg IN MY MOUTH.
At lunch one kid threw his sandwich on the floor. The dog ate it. The kid cried. As if it was my fault. Geez.
At dinner the same kid threw he flipping dinner on the floor. I just rolled my eyes and ignored it. I mean honest to Saint Freaking Pete.
Did my threats of, “Hey! Santa has a naughty list, you know!” help me out? Hell no!
Did calling your convincing voice mail and letting my crazy tykes leave you obnoxiously long wish lists help send the message home?!
No. No it did not.
So, Santa. Seems that you’re not helping me rein in the toddler thunder around these parts these days. And while this is so frustrating because the whole myth about you is wrapped up in this idea that “if kids are good *then* they get the Santa prize…” and all.
You are lucky that my kids are little and their hearts are pure gold. They might drive me up a wall most days (believe me, my hair is going gray at 35!) but they do deserve a little childhood fantasy while they are still young. Kids grow up so fast these days, after all.
But you better watch out, Santa. Do not make me replace your magic with that Elf of the Shelf nonsense. Whip some fear into these kids and help me make them behave if only for a few seconds at a time.
Very Kindly Yours,
One Exhausted Mom