Not You Dad, Santa!

Right now create an encrypted file about your Christmas shopping. Include which gift you are giving to your children from you and which gift from Santa. Done? I’ll tell you why my hubby wishes he would have done the same and reviewed it every few months.
Our two-year-old is just learning how to sleep in her toddler bed. By that I mean that she is learning just how fun it is to pop out, open the door and cackle manically until way past her bedtime. Like, three hours past her bedtime. So, we decided to try a different tactic. One of us stays by the door and reads his/her own book, blocking my daughter’s way out and immediately escorting her back to bed every time she gets out.
My husband was on this duty the other night. My two-year-old asked him for Monkey. She loves her stuffed monkey that she got last Christmas. She sleeps on him, totes him around all day and uses him as part bean bag, part lovey. Since Monkey as big as she is, it all works.
My hubby dutifully hunted down Big Monkey and handed my daughter the stuffed animal. As she grabbed her lovey and hugged it, my hubby said, “AWW, I remember when I bought Big Monkey for you. I knew you’d love it!”
My two-year-old stopped mid-hug, sat up abruptly, pointed her finger at her daddy and yelled, “Not you, Dad, Santa!”
She was right. Monkey had been from Santa, not us. As soon as my hubby realized his mistake, he acquiesced in the face of two-year-old righteous indignation and gave the credit back to the big guy in red.
Who would have thought that my two-year-old could remember that Santa had given her the monkey? Though she might have had an older sister remind her recently, I’m still floored that she remembered.
Good thing she is only two. An older child would have realized exactly what my hubby’s slip up meant.
So, this year, I am going to keep track of who gives which gift. Since we only give two gifts a piece to our children each year–one from us and one from Santa–it shouldn’t be too hard. But add in four kids and multiple Christmases, and the memories start to fade. I think I’ll print out that list and put it on hubby’s pillow every once in a while. Because the next slip up might just mean the end of Santa as we know it at the Wootton household.


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