My two-year-old had been in bed for almost an hour when my husband and I finally finished watching Home Alone 2 with our two oldest. They had snacks, and a shower and we read the Christmas Story from Luke 2. I was tucking them into bed and teasing them. “You’d better hurry, I wouldn’t want Santa to skip our house!”
See at my house, my kids know that my husband and I are Santa. Don’t get your winter underwear in a wad. We pretend and they almost choose to believe despite the fact that they know it’s us. They were beyond excited tonight.
“Maybe,” I said, “we should leave some snacks for Santa.”
Emma, my four-year-old, is all in regarding Santa. I’m not sure she’ll ever believe he isn’t real. Which is fine by me. I have told her and taught her what I think she needs to know and I’m ALL for imagination and pretending. All for it.
Emma: Yeah! Wet’s weave him some of dose peanut butter baws we made! Dey ah so yummy!
Me: That’s a great idea! And how about a carrot for Rudolph?
Emma: Yeah, but nuffin for da west of dem cause dey was all cawing him names.
Ooo, reindeer. Don’t you be messin’ with Rudolph around Emma. You’ll get yours.
