And Santa did appear at our front door. At 5:35 p.m. Something about making sure that everyone had been good this year, that good behaviors lasted until bedtime, taking baths and that bedtime come soon so Santa could finally come down our chimney.
Sure he had forgotten his hat and The Boy noticed something funny about his beard.
E: Mom. What is up with Santa's hair on his face? Why does it look like that?
Um, because it's polyester? Flammable yet very soft?
There were questions about how Santa arrived, where the presents were, why he came early and why couldn't he just drop the presents off now. Little faces pressed up against the window as Mom tried in vain to explain that Santa's sleigh had disappeared in a flash and little voices asked how Santa's sleigh could be so fast and shouldn't we have heard him fly away. Discussions regarding our wood stove insert blocking the chimney.
I feared that perhaps Santa's 90 seconds had been a few too long but The Baby was rushing up the stairs, his fat little legs moving as fast as he could.
Nathan: Baff, Mommy. Baff.
K: Santa told you to get a bath?
Nathan: NOW, MOMMY. NOW. Ho, ho, ho.
Well, alrighty then. I can see now that I was throwing the Santa card/be-on-your-best-behavior/don't-make-me-call-him-because-I-have-his-cell-number on the wrong kid. There's no doubt this little one believes. I fear he has absolutely no idea what he believes in, but if a large man in a red suit shows up in your living room and tells you to get a bath, I guess you had better do it.
Here's to lots more years of rushed baths and hurried bedtime stories before Santa comes. And to all a good night.