A while back I purchased sleds for Christmas and squirreled them away in the garage under an old camping tarp behind some shelves. (He he he…it’s been weeks now and still no one has found them.) This is our first snowy winter ever and the kids will love them. But now I’m the one having trouble keeping a secret–we have snow!!
Who else has the perfect present stashed away only to hear complaints by the soon-to-be-recipient that they don’t have one yet? Hands?
Yesterday Andy was invited to a sledding day with friends. We were told there would be other sleds if we didn’t have our own. I deliberated for a moment then decided to keep Santa’s little secret and remained tight lipped about the dream sleds behind the shelves. So with a zip and a tug of his boots, he was off. Two hours later I picked up a defeated little boy.
“It was no fun because I didn’t have my own sled.”
“Didn’t the other boys let you take turns on theirs?” I inquired.
“They let me sit on the back of their sleds, but then I always fell off two feet down the hill. If only I had my own sled.” (sniff.)
Errr…uhhhh…..”How about we ask Santa for a sled?”
“I don’t want one anymore. Sigh.”
What is a Santa to do? I know he was just being melodramatic about not wanting one, but it snowed again last night and I’m sure there will be more sledding excursions to come between now and la noche buena. I’m torn. I can see it now: they tear out of their rooms Christmas morning to find their pleas hadn’t fallen on deaf ears–they had been good, they really had! And without another word they would be scrambling out the door with nothing but their jammies and boots and sleds, ready for a Christmas adventure!
But I don’t know how many more of these crocodile tears I can take. I should cave and enjoy the sleds that much longer, right? We could be plunging down hills tomorrow if I wanted to, right? And, and, and…
Urrrgh! So that’s why Santa’s got white hair. It’s not age. It’s stress.