Just last week, Ash announced, “Santa gives socks to those who are naughty. I’m nice.”
I challenged her, “Are you really nice?”
She adamantly and curtly replied, “Yes, Mommy. I’m very nice.” And that’s when I put the new unopened package of pink and white and blue socks in her drawer instead of her Christmas Sock.
The dialogue continued capriciously this morning on the way to B’s office. In the midst of a conversation lull, Ashlyn announced, “If Santa gives clothes for Christmas, he won’t give toys.”
“What do you mean he won’t give toys?”
“If I get clothes, I won’t get toys. Clothes don’t make good presents,” Ash said.
“I disagree”, I said. “I love getting clothes for Christmas.”
“Yes, but you’re old.”
Hmmm. “How about books and puzzles and games. I think these all make very good presents for Christmas, “ I said.
“Mommy, toys are the best. Can you tell Santa not to bring clothes? He can give us all toys. You and me and daddy. We can all get toys.”
“I don’t really know what Santa is going to bring,” I said. This was the truth. Between both sets of grandparents, seven sizeable boxes - two of them in the extra large category - had arrived at our house, filled mostly with presents for Ash. Out of the 30 or 40 presents that filled the boxes – I didn’t stop to count - about 7 were for B and me. Could be clothes, could be toys. I’m just as curious as she is as to what Santa is bringing this year.
“Can’t he bring both?” Asked B.
“Don’t put Santa into a box,” said B. “Santa feels as though he’s been ‘stereotyped.’ So Santa brings whatever Santa wants to.”
“Only toys this year.”
“Are you sure you’ve been nice?”