|"Mommy, you are way prettier than Cruella De Vil."|
Wow, thanks. Way prettier than Cruella De Vil...that's awesome.
Just so you know, kid, that's not exactly the type of compliment I was aiming for. Nor is it going to help you get a new puppy. I don't care how cute those dalmatians look.
But maybe I'm too sensitive. To be way prettier than Cruella de Vil, is really not so bad.
Especially considering that just moments before Eliot was asking me: "Mommy, are you Santa?" (I see why Eliot might be thinking of Christmas, it being 100 degrees and all.)
At first, like all cunning parents suddenly faced with a child's doubt about the man in red, I panic. I guess it had to happen one day, but she's only seven. What was it that gave me away? Did she find her old Dear Santa letters stashed away at the bottom of my closet...was it something I said?
Why do you ask?
"Well, Mommy, it's just that I never get what I want."
Now, wait a minute here. You think I'm Santa because you don't get what you want. Seriously, who needs enemies when you have kids? This could be my lowest point as a parent (no, I'm not counting the time she got lost on an island).
"Last summer I saw a heart locket in a store in Verona so I put it on my list to Santa but never got it. I know Santa would have just gotten it for me because he could fly there and then come back and put it under our tree here in Singapore. But you can't just fly back and forth...so you're Santa, right?"
Is this a trick question? Do you have any idea how many air miles Santa has?