Santa is Watching. Or Is He?

Santa doesn't know it yet, but he has been my ticksanity this holiday season. If I had a nickel for every time I said, “Remember, Santa is watching so don't _____,” (blank is usually filled in with either hit your sister or poop in the bathtub) I would have enough money to, well, pay for Christmas.

It's hard being a parent. So when you find something that works it's hard to stop, even if you know it's wrong. Like rocking your baby to sleep or giving your two-year-old a hefty dose of Benadryl at 9:30am because you might actually go insane if you play one more game of Red Light Green Light.

It wasn't my intention to turn Santa into a creeper – it just sort of happened slowly, over the course of a few weeks. It started with Santa watching them on a high powered television from the North Pole and ended with Santa living in their closet at night to get them to stay in bed.

And yes, I did think about doing the Elf on the Shelf, but frankly that takes a lot of work and I'm super lazy. By the time I put the kids to bed I'm lucky if I remember to rinse out my wine glass and take my Zoloft.

But, like any quick fix that seems too good to be true, there have been some repercussions.

As we stood in the eternally long Santa line at the mall, my girls' grip on my hands became tighter with every step we took toward the gigantic Christmas tree. I wasn't sure if it was due to the unknown – all they could hear was the echos of screams of those who came before them - or if they knew what awaited them at the end of the road.

Judgment day had cometh.

The minute I stepped onto the platform my kids held on to me so tight that they actually became an extension of my own body. The only one not completely terrified was my eldest, probably because she was the only one who truly understood that all of this pain comes with a huge payout at the end.

As I placed the baby onto his lap I saw the look in her eye that told me there would be much therapy needed to get over this moment. It was a look I've seen many times before. Of course it was quickly replaced by a blood curdling wail.

I was able to pry my two-year-old off my leg just long enough to scream, “TAKE THE PICTURE NOW! NOW! GO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WOMAN - WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?”

And what we got was a nice little memento for the mantle:

And I get it. You reap what you sow. Everything comes with a price. But honestly, one month of good behavior for ten minutes of terrified hysteria and buying a few presents is a good investment in my book. Heck, we may make Christmas a monthly event around here.
 

By Hannah Mayer, events and family life blogger for SmartParenting

Hannah Mayer recently traded her Blackberry Smartphone for a Strawberry Shortcake when she retired from her 12-year career in advertising to become a full-time Mom to 3-year-old daughter Elliot, 2-year-old daughter Lillian, and 1-year-old daughter Hadley ("Hey, my husband is hot, okay?"). In her free time she enjoys eavesdropping on her neighbors' cordless phone conversations through the baby monitor, volunteering as an English tutor for the St. Louis Public School district and bucking the stigma that accompanies three car seats by challenging fellow drivers to freestyle battle raps from her mini van.

Hannah has written and published several fictional short stories but her entree into baring her soul to the world can be found at her blog sKIDmarks and her novel in progress Cute Little Bundle of Crazy. You can follow her on Twitter @The_sKIDmark or become a fan at facebook.com/sKIDmarking.