"These dolls. They're so beautiful, and I think I want all of them." She was looking at a Maplelea Girls catalogue that her father let her peruse. Apparently, dads don't understand the power of suggestion. Alas, that's a separate rant entirely.
Maplelea Girls are $100 a piece! As much as I love my little girl, there is no way I can afford to get her one of those, let alone the 5 she was asking for.
"Gee, those are a bit pricey, don't you think?"
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm asking Santa, not you!" Sigh. And it starts.
Now, maybe I suffered from a Bad Mommy Moment, but I couldn't stop myself from making a desperate attempt to nip the Santa Gimmes in the bud (yes, you nip things in the bud, not the butt. Well, I don't go around nipping butts, anyhow). Where was I? Geez, these asides really run my train of thought off the track.
OH, yes. She mentions the fact that Santa's getting her list, not me. So I immediately launch my counter-attack: The Santa Bill.
"Sweetie, it's very kind of you not to expect me to buy you a gazillion dollars worth of dolls, but perhaps you didn't realize that, although Santa might bring you the toys you want, someone has to foot the bill, and that person would be me." After explaining to her what "foot the bill" means, I explained to her that Santa's charity only goes so far. He has to pay for his upkeep, and the elves are more widely accepted in society now so they are more integrated than before which means they need some green to get by. The world population has multiplied exponentially since the time The Night Before Christmas was written, and the North Pole has shrunk, so really, the same amount of workers are trying to manufacture a lot more product in less time with less resources, which means they're using better quality and more efficient equipment that probably has to be maintained and/or replaced annually, if not more often. In light of these and other supporting facts, Santa is now billing parents for what he deems "excessive requests" at his discretion.Oh, yes, I went on for minutes that might have seemed like hours to my daughter. When I finally stopped, she looked at me glassily and said, "Fine. I just want a School Set."
Oh, crap. Move over, Christmas Bill Panic. Guilt is coming to take over. I'm going to have to get her one of those dolls, aren't I?
