Alright, who’s coming over to clean this mess up?
I blame these heathens.
On December 24th my house was Priest-clean (what’s that? Oh, click here.), but by 7am on December 25th it turns into a dump and I’m waiting for the Junk Lady from The Labyrinth to pop out all, what’s the matter, don’t you like all your new toys? What about these Skylanders? Well look here, it’s the creepy talking Doc McStuffins doll, that’s what you were looking for, wasn’t it, my dear?
Each year, as playing Santa gets more and more like how I envisioned it as we blissfully stared over the crib at our darling first born, the more I grow to resent the whole thing.
I stay up until 2am, wrapping gifts, stuffing stockings, assembling crap, half eating cookies, all so I can wake up four hours later and watch my children squeal with delight about how amazing Santa is, and I’m like, really? He’s the awesome one? Did Santa cover rush shipping to get your American Girl Doll here in time? Did Santa cough up $90 for a box of Legos that he won’t be stuck assembling for 80 hours?
Am I selfish, totally. Is it better to give than receive, sure. Do their smiles make it all worth it, whatever. I’m working with a super small window of time that my kids think I’m awesome, and maybe I’m a touch jealous of this mythical guy who gets all the credit.
Except for not having 9 AAA batteries on hand. That I get credit for.
How do you Santa?