Saint Santa

In a bad parenting moment last week, I threatened Little Squirt with the Trump Card that many dysfunctional parents across the world use during this Season of Good Will Toward Man: “Santa’s elves are watching to see who’s naughty and who’s nice. If you don’t behave, you will go on the Naughty list. Then Santa will have to re-think the gift thing.” I hated to do it, but I was stressed, and his behavior was particularly awful that day. Even for him. Plus, I had a splitting headache.

Little Squirt turned ten shades of pale, then timidly looked around the room and asked, “Where do the elves hide, Mama?” And then I felt really bad, and told him that the elves were actually very nice, kind of like angels, and they were watching him with the expectation that he would behave, as he usually did. And that the elves hoped beyond hope to tell Santa to bring Little Squirt lots of expensive presents. And then, panicking that I had fatally damaged his self-esteem, I read him the book, “I’ll Love You Forever,” and fed him fudge. And gave him a hug. And made a mental note to add more money to his Adult Therapy Fund. And implored him to please stop smacking his brother and hitting the TV with his Lord of the Rings sword. It turned out to be a lovely mother/son bonding moment, but then I realized that I have totally messed up his theology. Yes, Folks, I have my son believing that Santa’s elves have the spiritual power of angels.

But it gets worse. Now every time someone offends him, Little Squirt says, “That was NOT nice. That hurt Santa, God and Jesus." So because of my inadequate and lazy parenting conflict resolution skills, I have Little Squirt actually believing that The Trinity consists of “The Father, The Son, and The Holy Saint Nick.”