I really was a terrible mother. When my two boys were little and would fight with each other (and if you have boys, you know how bad it can get), I’d pick up the phone and dial. “Hello, Santa? Yes, I’m calling about my sons. Uh huh. Okay, thank you.”
Then I’d tell them, “I just called the Santa Claus toll-free hotline, and when you’re bad, he takes one of your toys and puts it in your brother’s pile.”
Worked like a charm.
So you do believe in Santa. Merry Christmas.
That’s OK. Once upon a time, when our daughter was about 3 years old, and was pigging out a bit too much on a particularly rich dessert, I picked up the phone, hit a couple random buttons, and announced that I was calling Richard Simmons (from back in his ‘Why Are You Fat?’ days).
I said “Richard, this is Russ. Jenni says she wants another piece of cake”.
Slight pause.
“Jenni, Richard says you’ve had enough”.
She stopped.
Okay, I feel better now!
You’re a bloody genius, Suzie.
Merry Christmas & Wesele Wianoce, or however they spell it