How We Know Santa Is Real, Plus Baby Jesus Rolls

Two cute stories from the Christmas weekend.  First, as I've written about previously, Elisabeth was terribly skeptical of the whole Santa story this year.  She eventually settled on Santa being real, but Rudolph being made up because, really, what kind of reindeer has a nose that lights up...

Well, in order to test her "hypothesis" (her new favorite word thanks to WordGirl, I believe), she devised a system that would prove once and for all whether Santa was real.  She would leave a note for Santa along with the cookies.  The note would read "For Santa ONLY."  That way, if the cookies got eaten, she would know that Santa was real because only Santa could eat the cookies.  If the cookies remained in the morning, then Santa didn't exist.  She was thrilled to find the cookies eaten.  And I only feel a little bit bad for misleading her.

If one of us hadn't eaten the cookies, it seems likely that the cat would have.  We left the mug of milk out for Santa and came downstairs to multiple puddles of foul, and I mean FOUL, smelling cat vomit.  If you've ever wanted a cat, think again.  And if you still want a cat, I have one for you.

Elisabeth has said multiple times over the past two days, "I KNEW he was real.  I KNEW it.  I'm so happy." It is so sweet and innocent that she has full faith that if she writes something on a note, it will be obeyed.  Well, maybe that's not sweet and innocent, maybe it is an expectation that her parents do as she says.  Hmm...  let's go with sweet and innocent.  Makes for a much better story and makes me feel better about my parenting skills.  I note this as I watch Elisabeth dance around the room to Penguins of Madagascar periodically mooning the TV.  Pardon me while I inquire of the nature of this dance...

OK that is settled.  The adjustable waist band button in her pants was bothering her, so the obvious solution was to pull both pants and underwear down as she danced.  On to Jesus Rolls.

Charlotte, like her sister before her, loves, and I mean LOVES, the notion of Baby Jesus.  Every Christmas song that says Baby Jesus is met with enthusiastic cheering from Charlotte.  She carries the Fisher Price Baby Jesus around the house, perching him precariously on towers made of blocks.  Heck, she even named a new baby doll of hers "Baby Jesus" and she (yes, she) is the sister of Other Amme.

Now change gears a bit.  For Christmas Eve Dinner, I set out to make Parker House Rolls.  These little rolls are made by taking a ball of dough and squishing it flat in the middle so that you make a sort of oval with two thicker ends, then you fold it in two and bake.  If you're so inclined, you can open them up in the middle before you eat them.  Charlotte was so inclined.  And immediately upon opening the roll,  she decided it looked like a manger.  "Baby Jesus in there!"  Hoping she had seen an image of Baby Jesus in a Christmas roll that I could sell on Ebay for the big bucks I looked over only to find her looking at a very plain looking roll.  "Baby Jesus sleeping in here Mommy."  Charlotte then patted the roll gently and then folded it closed.  And shoved it in her mouth with a big, theatrical, CHOMP.

Me:  You're going to EAT Baby Jesus?
C:  NO!  Baby Jesus neaking (read:  sneaking) away!!!  See?  See Baby Jesus neak?  Chomp.
Me:  Oh Baby Jesus, come back!
C:  Me getting Baby Jesus.  Me putting Baby Jesus back Mommy.  Chomp.
Me:  You're eating Baby Jesus again?
E:  I've got Mary in my roll.

So now, every day for three days, we've had these rolls with dinner.  And needless to say our irreverent dinner roll skit has gotten less reverent with each passing day.  So now on every Christmas Eve, I will apparently be serving Baby Jesus Rolls.  And also probably going straight to hell...

Advice from a big sister for those considering a second child...

We just got back from a wonderful weeklong trip to Disney with my mom and sister and niece, who is 3.  Elisabeth, Annaleis and Charlotte had a lovely, if not loud, time playing together.  Poor Annaleis, though, by day 3 she did not want to come out of her room after she woke up.  Instead she sat by the door, relishing her last little bit of peace.  That is how crazy my crazies are.  I can understand, believe me, there are many days when I don't want to come out of my room either.

Anyway, my sister is somewhere around 20 weeks pregnant, and I guess Elisabeth thought she needed some advice.  We overheard my 4 year old telling my sister in a very advice-giving tone of voice something to the effect of "you know, babies aren't always nice.  Sometimes they bite."  A sort of "take it from me, I've been there, don't get too excited about this so called 'bundle of joy' you've got growing in there because it will come out and bite you."

Now, given Elisabeth's only experience with having a new baby, this was fair advice.  This week was the first time both girls have had to sleep in a bed together.  The number of times Doug and I had to go in there and yell at them is pretty much uncountable.  And this countless number of times was always, ALWAYS, attributable to Charlotte.  Elisabeth was being a saint.

Twice, Doug went in and Charlotte handed over Baby Ginny and Baby Llama without a fight and said "me mack Zizzy."  We have a video monitor,we know its true.  We'd watch as Elisabeth peacefully tried to go to sleep and Charlotte would breach the pillow divide we created and climb on Zizzy and haul off and "mack" her good.

So all of you considering more children, take it from Elisabeth.  They ain't all sugar and spice and everything nice.  Sometimes they bite.

Pinkalicious

For those of you who don't know - Pinkalicious is the in the running for the dumbest kids book on earth. But for some reason, Charlotte (and many, many other kids apparently) LOVES it. So we read it more than we might otherwise want to.

The entire premise of the book is this bratty little girl and her mother make pink cupcakes, and the brat eats so many pink cupcakes that she herself turns pink. They take her to the doctor who tells her that to turn back to her normal color, she has to eat nothing but green foods, which of course are "YUCK."

Pinkalicious' mom puts the rest of the cupcakes on top of the fridge. Pinkalicious is not to be swayed, so she stacks chairs and books and tvs precariously on top of the kitchen counter and climbs up to reach the rest of the cupcakes.

This morning, as I read this book to Charlotte and we got to the part where Pinkalicious is sneaking in and climbing up this ridiculous stack of stuff to sneak another cupcake, Charlotte says, "me neber do that, Mommy. Neber eber eber." So I said "oh good, Charlotte, you should never do that." To which she replied, "Me wash mine hands first Mommy."

Yep, so very Charlotte. I didn't believe her for a second when she said she'd never do something so sneaky.

Is Santa Real?

I must field this question daily. Luckily she still really wants to believe, so I can answer with a "what do you think?" and she quickly drops the question. But a few weeks ago, she engaged me and said "Well, I think he's real." Then she asked "does he really have a sleigh?"

I've wanted to dance the Santa dance without flat out lying to her, but if she already believes in Santa then what's the harm in telling her that yes, he has a sleigh? So I said yes. And she said "Yeah, I thought so. That's how I can tell the real Santa from all the fake ones, like at the mall. The fake ones don't have sleighs."

Then she asked, "but mommy - I don't think Rudolph is real." I said, "why not?" to which she replied, "because, Mommy, NO animal has a red nose that lights up. That's just silly."

Yeah, because that is the unbelievable part of the story. If I'd been on top of my game I would have reminded her about fireflies, but I was in a two-child induced stupor so I just said "oh I know, that Rudolph story is just ridiculous."