I’ll admit it: Doug and I have been using the Santa card a lot lately. P is three now and more into Santa than ever. Lists are made daily, changed hourly and added to with each new commercial. You can’t blame us for incorporating Santa’s cult-status into our questionable parenting method.
P won’t eat? Uh oh, Santa is watching.
P won’t go to bed? Oh boy, you’re heading for the naughty list.
P won’t comply with any of our many demands? That’s it! Santa isn’t coming, we’re welding the chimney SHUT! (At this point Doug typically grabs his drill and blow torch for the ultimate dramatic effect – it’s rather riveting truth be told)
We’ve even gone so far as to have Santa call P when she’s being especially THREE. Afterall, he knows when you’ve been sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…dude, he’s bound to know your digits.
So I guess we had only ourselves to blame as P played her own Santa card when our cat refused to be tormented for the hundredth time today. Peppermint (yes that really is her name) swatted at P with a bit of a hiss. P, not missing a beat, said “That’s it kitty! You’re not getting any presents from Santa”. She went further so kitty would know she meant business and called Santa. Caller ID’s a bitch Claus.
The next eight minutes might only be bearable enjoyable to P’s mom and dad, and maybe Grandma, but I had to share cause she cracks me up.