On Wednesday, when I brought Baby Girl home from daycare, part of the papers that came home with her was an offer from the center for her to receive a letter from Santa. The gist:
"Do you remember receiving a letter from Santa acknowledging your every wish? Well, we're offering 'Letters from Santa' this year for the cost of $3.00 per letter."
When I saw this I rolled my eyes, but I left it on the kitchen table just in case Jason would be interested in doing this (because apparently now that we've had a child, writing a letter from Santa, forging a signature, and using the United States Postal Service is beyond us).
He wasn't (thankfully I called that one). But, we're sitting at the breakfast table, ruminating over our apparent and acknowledged lack of talent with stamps and envelopes, he scanned the form which allowed the letter to be "personalized". One line was a toy the child really wants and will probably receive. Jason commented that if you really wanted to mess your child up, you should list a toy that they really wanted but would have a snowball's chance in hell of getting, and then when Christmas came just explain that Santa misrepresented himself. I looked at my husband, appalled, and exclaimed that I can't believe he spends his time laboring over these types of hideous schemes. He assured me that he was able to come up with that child-scarring one on the spur of the moment.
Oh, Baby Girl, he's your dad; there's no help for it. We're stuck with him.