At breakfast this morning Abby was goofing around, as usual. She takes her dear old time eating her cereal, then she runs around the kitchen table doinking Riley on the head in his highchair as she passes by, and usually ends up making Mom and Dad late for work.
This usually happens in spite of anything we say to quell the behavior, and if you were a fly on the wall of our kitchen weekday mornings, you’d hear a repeated two-tone cacophony of “Abby, are you done breakfast? Then go use the potty.”
This morning, I employed a different tactic as Abby slid herself about linoleum on her full-body footy PJs.
“You know that Santa keeps a list of good and bad kids, right?”
Usually the “Santa” word doesn’t get invoked in our house. I’m not a great fan of Santa. I think the idea is nice, but wouldn’t you rather have the kids thanking you for the multitude of gifts than perpetuating this Santa story?
Don’t think me a grinch - I’m not a proponent of exposing Santa as mythology, but what good does the story truly serve? I was about to find out.
It’s also worth noting that saying “Santa” never before evoked any response from Abby. I guess at 3 it still hadn’t sunk in what the thing was all about. This year, though, uttering his name seemed to have some effect.
“You know that Santa keeps a list of good and bad kids, right?”
Abby’s ears perked up. She looked at me and nodded.
“And you know what bad kids get for Christmas, right?”
“What?” she asked.
“Coal,” I said in an ominous tone.
Abby’s face contorted into a quizzical look, and Berta, who was standing next to me, squirmed ever so slightly.
By way of explanation I said, “It’s a black rock.”
Abby’s eyes went wide. “I don’t want a black rock,” she said.
“Then get into the potty!!”
She sprinted for the door and, presumably, the bathroom.
Berta turned to me and said, “I was worried that she would want the black rock.”
Hmm. Hadn’t thought of that. Lucky thing she didn’t.
Ah, yes, I had observed the true power of Santa. Now I just need to come up with a character for every month of the year. Jack Frost for January? Cupid for February? Leprechauns for March? Abby’s birthday is in April, so that’s not an issue. May becomes difficult. Maybe some kind of gift-bearing flower? More thought is required.
