My Santa story is not from my childhood. Rather, its a tale from my adventures in parenting. My kids are pretty out of control. They like to swear, punch and kick each other, dress the dog up in doll clothes and pile couch cushions on his tiny body so he can barely breathe. Time outs, toys in the garbage, the occasional spanking... none of these methods work on them. The only thing that gets results is to pretend to call Santa on the phone, give our address and their names and instructions to please not deliver toys this christmas. They cry and promise to be good, and most times they actually will calm down. Then I have to call back and tell Santa we're going to try again, and to please put us back on the delivery list.
When their bad behavior flares up, or I don't want to get up, I tell them that Santa can actually hear me without using the phone, and I look up towards the ceiling and raise my hands into the air... "Oh Santa!" I say, "the kids are bad again. Santa please don't bring them presents...." and they start wailing.
They actually believe I am talking to Santa. How do I know? Because my littlest one, 5-year old Owen, got mad at his sister for taking his toy and he ran into the back yard, raised his hands to the sky and said "Oh Santa, please, please, please don't give Ruby any toys this year!"
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