So the Babii turns to me and says, “Can you explain to me again how Santa gets my letters?”
Gasp! (I know she’s already 9 years old, but what parent is ever ready for this question? Dammit, R where are you?!?! Wait, I know how to answer this one.)
“Magic.” (WTF.)
“But how does he know what I want?”
“Magic.”
By this time I was trying very hard to suppress a fit of laughter. (Yes, I’m a bad mother and a bad liar. Dammit R, where are you?!?!)
The Babii looks at me with an expression somewhere between suspicion and amusement. You see, I’ve made it a habit to give semi-credulous/semi-fantastical answers to the simplest questions so that in instances such as these I can come off as being my usual slightly demented self instead of a shameless fibbing parent. It’s called foresight. You’re welcome.
(GAH! How am I supposed to answer questions like that anyway? Does anyone have a manual????)
So she gives me a stern look and says, “If you’re trying to trick me…..” (Leaves threat hanging in the air. The Force is strong in this one.)
She proceeds to fold a long letter she already wrote to Santa. “I’m going to put this letter where you’ll never find it.”
I’m in so much trouble.
I think I’ll just tell her Santa got our flight schedules mixed up and sent his gift to Israel. Or I can tell her it’s a “guy thing” and that only her father can answer. 😀
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