Hard Truths

We, or I suppose in the spirit of truthfulness that should be “I,” have done enough of the osouji (big clean) to get away with. The nengajo (New Year’s cards) are in the mail. Christmas has been cleaned up and put back in the closet.

And I just with no warning told Me First that Santa isn’t real. So I guess we are as ready for New Year’s as we are gonna get.

Oh the Santa thing?
I can’t keep up this charade anymore. He was bitching-again-about how Sister got TWO toys and he only got one.

Her two dollies together were half the price of his skateboard furf@xsake. He did say he wanted legos, too, *two* days before Christmas, but this Santa doesn’t have a team of elves, you know?

He wasn’t really whining so much as just kind of confused, maybe because they were both monsters the day before Christmas and neither one deserved a thing. This led to an eleventh hour freak-out on Christmas Eve. I just…don’t want to do it anymore, I guess.

I wasn’t sold on the idea to start with. But kids just seem to absorb all this Santa nonsense before a parent has time to consider it. Then there’s the whole creepy elf on the shelf thing…It just…happens.

Like shit.

Anyway, I told Me First that there was a real Santa once, who was kind and brought a lot of children joy at Christmas time. Parents act the part to honor that good old man, and we give gifts to each other remembering the gifts the wise men brought baby Jesus.

That seemed like enough explanation and he doesn’t seem crushed that I lied to him for almost ten years.

I told him he could tell Me Too or he could join the grown-up team next year. He said he’ll hide the elf. Great news! I hate that arrogant goody-goody ceramic creepy head.


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