Her: I was glad that Santa didn’t give me a lump of coal.
Me: Me too.
Her: Who does he give coal to?
Me: Bad children.
Her: Am I sometimes bad?
Me: Well, yes, like when you had a hissy fit in the supermarket on Saturday and everybody looked at us and I was mortified.
Her: What do good children do?
Me: When their parents say they can’t have something, they don’t make a fuss.
Her: Not even a small hissy fit?
Me: Not even a small hissy fit.
Her: Are there any good children in real life?
Good question! Are there?
She has a point.
I often wonder the same thing. I’m praying the good children are about to burst forth from my womb that first week in April. It’s the only way I’ll survive twins.
Once upon a time the our months-shy-of-teenager was a very good child, but now he’s a teenager. Teendom seems to strike forth from the mouth first.