Stupid Santa and all your coordinating.

My kids both asked Santa for Razor scooters (please send check for endorsement) this Christmas. So, on Black Friday, in the frenzy, I found one on sale. We had a deal where we could wrap the presents, and in my brilliance, I wrapped it so that upon stumbling on the gift FROM SANTA, he wouldn't know what it was at a glance. I'm so smart like that.

Later, we had to get Lucy's because she'd requested a pink one, and there were no pink ones in the Black Friday frenzy. So, when we went to shop, Ricardo picked out one, declared, "This is PINK." But I had to tell him no, because it was not a RAZOR Scooter. And that's what they asked for. Santa is PERFECT so it must be a PINK RAZOR SCOOTER. And so, it must be.

So, last night, in keeping with a long tradition in my Christmas life - we waited for the kids to go to sleep and then wrapped all the presents while watching A Christmas Story, ofcourse. This year, it already seemed like we didn't get the kids enough. Their piles seemed so small. And then I realized THEY HAVE PILES. Also, they are getting older, and so the toys and presents are smaller. The older you get, the smaller the boxes - is my new theory. We've gone from giant playtime saucers and double strollers to Vsmile game cartridges and new gloves. Really, they didn't ask for much now that I think of it.

Ricardo went to our super secret present hiding place (the stow & go in the car) and got the Razors to assemble for presentation. He unwrapped Max's Razor and that when we saw it - it was a knock off. It wasn't a Razor. But Lucy's WAS - BECAUSE I HAD INSISTED ON IT. And Max is a kid that pays attention to details. Dammit. Does Santa take shortcuts? Uh, NO.

I looked at the clock - 9:30p.m. on Christmas Eve night. This ought to be good. I grabbed the keys and went to Walmart. They've GOT to be open. They are the worst employers in America, surely they didn't do something stupid like let their employees off to spend time with their families or something ridiculous like that. And sure enough, closed. All of them. Because I went to each and every one, listening to holly jolly Christmas music, tears streaming down my face because I've just ruined everything. Super.

At some point of desperation, I found myself roaming in a Walgreens. Ricardo convinced me to just come home. That Max would like it. That it would be good enough. But I really felt like I screwed this one up and that good enough wasn't okay, it needed to be perfect. Santa's perfect.

Wait a second, just wait a second. Santa can screw this up and then I can come in and save the day and take him to pick out the RIGHT RAZOR the next day. I will trump Santa and victory will be mine!

Still, I got home, finished up, all with a lump in my throat, and tossed and turned all night, worried about the disappointment on my son's face when he realized that Lucy was good, and apparently Santa was communicating that Max was only semi-good. I'll trump Santa, but still have to deal with his sad little face.

5:45 a.m. - Max wakes up and is ready to rock. He asks, since it is Christmas, is it okay to get up now? We say yes, get Lucy up. He does and they go. And the first thing out of that kid's precious angel lips is, "Santa left me a RAZOR! It doesn't say it, but it is a Razor!"

It turns out, upon further review, that Max didn't think that he was getting anything from Santa at all. And he was just so grateful that he left anything. So, I set out the fudge and the baked goods and told them they were both very good kids and they could ride their RAZORS through the house all day.

Merry Christmas.
That's how I roll, slightly flawed and inevitably inspired...by 6 year olds.