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SantaScam revisited

This is a post from last Christmas, but it may be new for some of you.

I just love this little incident too much NOT to repost it:

So, I’m going to hell. Yesterday, I had a phone conversation with my 4-year-old niece where I pretended to be Santa Claus.

Yup. And this blog is now my cyber confessional.

Here’s the scene: My sister and I were on the phone. In the background, I heard Piper saying she wanted to "talk on da phone." Now, she didn’t know who my sister was talking to, and once she said hello, something …. happened to me. I spontaneously, inexplicably found myself saying, in the single WORST man-voice imitation of all time, "Ho Ho Ho! Pii-perrr …. this is Saaanntaa!"

(When I re-enacted it later for My Beloved, he couldn’t look directly at me. He simply cringed and declared, "Uhh, you sound more like a ghost. Or the Movie Phone guy.")

But it’s TRUE. I DID.

So I truly thought there was no chance — NO CHANCE — that she’d fall for it. Of course, the jig would be up instantly. I mean, I’d never been able to fool her with a "voice" before. But then there was an audible gasp on the other end of the phone. I waited for her to say, chidingly, "Tee Tee, I know it’s you." But she didn’t. Her little, speech-classed voice excitedly said:

"Santa?! Hi, Santa!"

(Ohhhhhh, nooo. Flames of hell tickling my toes.)

I had a split second to decide. I was so sure she’d already be laughing at me and saying, "You so funny, Tee Tee." But once I realized she was actually BELIEVING me, I had to keep going. What was I going to DO? Stop in the face of such excitement and lamely say, "Ha ha ha. Just kidding, Piper"?

So girding my dubious wits for this festive fraud, I bellowed:

"Have you been a good girl, Pii-perrr?"

"Oh, yes, Santa. I be good," she breathed.

"Well, why don’t you tell Sanntaa what you want for Christmas?"

Holy MOLY, I sounded stupid. The hellfires were spreading. So was the sweat. At that point, I just prayed that she’d keep believing.

She said something I couldn’t quite make out, so I just replied:

"Welll, o-kaaay. Sanntaa is writing that down. What else do you want for Christmas, Pii-perrr?"

I almost cried when she said, simply, "Dust a toy."

I had to pause to take a breath.

"What kind of toy, Pii-perrr?"

"Dust a toy," she repeated.

I told her I was writing that down, too. I was about to lose it. I wasn’t sure if I’d melt into tears or laughter, but one of them was imminent.

"So, Pii-perrr, are you going to leave Sanntaa some cookies to eat?"

"Oh, yes, Santa. I wiw!"

"Ho Ho OHH, that’s good. Sanntaa likes cookies!" (Seriously, Movie Phone guy, watch out.)

"Okay," she said softly.

Finally, I said, "O-kaay, Pii-perrr. I’m coming to your house on Christmas Eve. But you need to be asleep. Okaaay, Pii-perrr?"

"Oh, yes, Santa. I be sweeping for shore."

"That’s good. You make Sanntaa verry haappy. HO HO HO! Bye Bye, Pii-perrr!"

Oh …. Sweet …. Lord …. forgive …. me. Fraud over, I collapsed back on the sofa to catch my breath. My sister was back on the line.

"Oh, thank you for calling, Santa." I could tell she was stifling laughter. She was gently coaxing Piper to leave the room so we could talk, but apparently, my niece was frozen in place, a wide-eyed, open-mouthed statue.

I told my sister, "Tell her Santa needs to talk to mommy about some Christmas surprises." (Refer to forgiveness plea above.)

She did, and Piper bolted from the room. My sister was in hysterics.

"How did you do that without laughing?"

"I don’t know!" I wailed.

"I could hear you. That was the worst voice I’ve ever heard you do."

"I know!" I wailed.

"All those years of acting and THAT’S what you come up with?"

"I KNOW!" I wailed.

It’s true — it was simultaneously the best AND worst performance I’d ever done.

"Well, I don’t know how she bought it, but she did. Her eyes were bugging out of her head."

My sister called this morning with news of the aftermath of SantaScam 2004. Apparently, immediately after the phone call, my elated niece insisted on calling her Nana and Pop-Pop to tell them Santa had called. She’s also quite adamant about the cookies. My sister tried to fob off some fudge on Santa, but Piper would have none of it. "No, Mommy. Santa wants cookies. He tole me. He tole me!"

I know. I know. Santa’s going to hell.

And without any cookies, too.

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halloween is HAPPY!

This is good — both Greg and The Anchoress have said it, so now I don’t really have to. But what the heck:

Halloween is kewl.

GASP! SHAME! Christians aren’t supposed to utter that, right? Because, says Greg:

Apparently the more acceptable thing to do now – the more scriptural, i.e. “biblical” – thing to do is shutter the house and pack the kids off to church for an “alternative” evening of fun and games. zzzzzZZZZZZZ…. Oh, sorry. Um, where was I? No ghosts or gremlins allowed here, by golly. The only costumes you’re going to see are going to be Bible characters. The good ones, of course. No Pilates or Jezebels, that’s for sure. And although I understand with our culture in profound disarray it was almost inevitable that such a safer alternative come to pass, I still have to wonder if this is the best we can do. As Christians, you know. Is this just one more time when we boycott our culture, insulate ourselves from real life, and distance ourselves from our communities for reasons that only we know and understand? I mean, do you think the rest of the neighborhood is really hip to why we do what we do? Really? Remember what I said at the top about America spending almost as much on Halloween decorations as it does on Christmas decorations? I wonder if we’ve really thought this whole thing through – what our darkened, shuttered houses say to our neighbors on the one night they can be guaranteed to visit us.

Yup.

And The Anchoress shares some personal memories of Halloween … and the FUN of it all! For Pete’s sake!

Last year, My Beloved and I went trick or treating with our then-4-year-old niece, Piper. She was all decked out in her pink and blue tulle princess regalia and her little light-up tennis shoes. A proper princess, indeed. She was enchanting and utterly, smushably cute. And her teensy “beech” (speech) problems made her just that much more irresistible to everyone. I’m tellin’ you true.

She’d charge up to each house, with us holding back a bit, ring the doorbell by herself (“I can do it, Tee Tee!”), wait for that door to open, rocking back and forth on her feet, and when that glorious moment happened, when that door FINALLY opened, she’d cry out:

“FRICK O’ FREAT!!”

Oohs and aahhs ensued, with many a neighbor giving her extra candy — for sheer cuteness’ sake, I’m sure.

Then she’d stare down at the fresh booty in her bag and, wide-eyed, say:

“OH! GANK YOU! GANK YOU!!”

Every house, the same. Good, neighborly feelings all ’round, a little girl’s candy-coated dreams coming true, and some vigilant adults, giddy with glee at her antics …. and her unabashed, slightly mispronounced good manners.

Back at home, she dumped out her bag and proceeded to give most of her candy away — to her older brothers, her parents, My Beloved and me. She shared with everyone. She gave us the good stuff, too. There was no parental exhortation for her to share; she simply did it, out of her open and generous heart.

There was nothing of evil. There was nothing of demons.

But there was magic, though. The magic of family giggling together, abandoned to silliness. The magic of a neighborhood sharing the spirit of this annual candy beg-fest. And the magic of a little girl’s sweetness, far sweeter than any candy.

Somehow, I think Jesus was smiling down on our tiny frick or freater that night.

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can I use this one?

Well, it seems my little niece Piper is devilishly clever.

A while back, she and my sister were in the park. Piper, being the 4-year-old she is, wanted to “chase monsters.” She scampered across the grass, turned round, and called out:

“C’mon, Mommy! Let’s go kick some butt!”

Hearing that, my sister instantly stopped short, chiding her:

“Piper! Where did you learn that from?!”

Piper paused. My sister could see her little brain thinking, thinking. Then solemnly, she blinked those blue eyes and whispered:

“From Jesus, Mommy. Jesus.”

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getting what you need

My niece Piper was visiting us this weekend.  So I didn’t blog or really look at the blogosphere much.  And that was just fine with me.

Because I needed …. something else altogether.

I needed to twirl until I was dizzy, crazily spinning back time to when I  was four years old.

I needed to jump madly on the bed, my  bed, and not care one whit how messy it got.

I needed to blow bubbles in the park, giggling as she tirelessly chased them down across the wet, squishy grass.

Then I needed to watch, bursting with pride, as she gave the rest of her "bubble juice" to another little girl in the park who didn’t have any "bubble juice." 

I needed to lose every wretched, mind-numbing game of Candyland to a certain cherubic cheater.   

I needed to sit at the kitchen table with her, globbing paint on cheap little wooden gliders. 

Then I needed to comfort her when hers broke immediately thereafter, telling her she could have Tee Tee’s plane.

Then, again, I needed to console her when that one crashed into the monkey bars, shattering, after its ill-fated first flight in the park.

I needed to be enchanted as my beautiful friend, arms outstretched to Piper, led her to dance freely before the Lord during worship.

And I needed to dance with them.

I needed to run, run, run along the pier, faster than the waves, with the salt air sharp in my nostrils and the wind ferocious in my hair.

I needed to stand at ocean’s edge with her, breathless for the next insolent wave to soak through our properly rolled-up jeans.

Then I needed to stroll, unashamed, down the street in my soggy, sandy clothes, slurping up ice cream … with rainbow sprinkles.

I needed to laugh deliriously with her when the lazy Kodiak bear at the zoo finally roused himself from slumber only to relieve himself right in front of us.

I needed to run away from the pushy, icky goat at the petting zoo because, well, I’m afraid of goats.  But she isn’t, so she laughed at me.

I needed to give her "some pwivacy" when she showered.  And then be ready when she called for help 10 seconds later.

I needed to lie in bed face to face at bedtime while I stroked her arms and she chattered about her busy day.

Then I needed to tell her how much Jesus just adores her.

Then I needed, but didn’t know I needed, to have my four-year-old niece pat my cheek and say, "Tee Tee, you’re such a cutie-pie."

I needed to lose sleep as she snoringly slept on top of me — or glued to my back — no matter what I did or how I maneuvered.

But I also needed to sleep holding hands, like hobbits, because she likes to sleep that way.

And I needed to wake up the next day to her smiling, pillow-smushed cheeks to do it all over again.   

I needed to be something I may never be — a mom.  

Just a fleeting taste of that blessed, everyday sweetness.

And sweetness is a precious commodity in this place, in these times. 

So I need to keep thankfulness on my lips  … always … for sweetness such as this …

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good."  Psalm 107:1

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gettin’ hitched

That’s right. I got hitched again the other day. And not to My Beloved. Nope. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even told him yet. I mean, how do you tell your husband that you’re now a bigamist? I don’t suppose he’ll cotton to the idea, but I can’t undo it now. Besides, I really, truly love this person. The proposal was perfect, surprising. I was completely swept off my feet, and well, how could I say no to that?

“Tee Tee.”

My niece was on the phone.

(Yeah. What were YOU thinkin’? *Gasp* Well, I am truly shocked and appalled!)

“Yes, Piper?”

“Wiw you mawwy me?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Dat’s good. Okay. Put your awm stwaight out.”

I did so.

“Is your awm out, Tee Tee?”

“Yes, Pipey. Are we married now?”

“Umm, no. Now put your weg stwaight out, too.”

Hmm …. the ceremony was a tad more calisthenic than my first wedding, but nonetheless, both arm and leg were stuck out as required by the ritual.

“Okay, Piper. Are we married now?”

“Yeah. Ahhh-men.”

Oh, so simple. No long months of laborious planning. No lingering family feuds. No heavy, regrettable wedding dress. Or hair.

Just some calisthenics. An “amen.” And … pfffftt. We’re married. Yep. I’m gonna do all my weddin’s this way from now on.

And, of course, now MB has some serious competition. Ohhh, yeah. Don’t think I won’t be using THAT.

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santascam 2004 — update

Since I’ve so far managed to escape the fiery, gaping hell mouth licking my heels in the wake of SantaScam 2004, here’s the latest update on my unintentional Christmas caper:

Last week, before MB and I went up north, my side of the family got together for Christmas. Of course, my niece Piper, victim of SantaScam 2004, was in attendance. As I sat on the floor playing a game with her, I said:

“So Piper, I heard you got a phone call from Santa.”

She leapt from her spot on the floor, plopped herself in my lap, smushed her fingers against my lips, and solemnly whispered, “Tee Tee, shhhhh …. it’s a secret.”

This went on throughout the course of the evening. Whenever a family member would inquire about the “Santa” phone call, Piper would instantly shush them. She was quite hushed and serious about the whole affair.

I called the Tuesday after Christmas to check in. Piper answered the phone in her certain way.

“Heyyo?!”

“Piper, it’s Tee Tee.”

And she was off. And chattering …. and chattering. About Christmas. I think. Now let me explain. In my family, we’ve all learned to speak “Piper.” But even with my decent knowledge of this “language,” I understand only about 50 percent of what she says. And when she’s excited like that? Fuggedaboudit. Listening to her, I briefly thought, “Hmmm …. my niece has the gift of tongues.” Clearly, she’s just more spiritual than the rest of us.

As her “Piperspeak” blew by my ears at truly dizzying speed, my niece would frequently stop and burst into hysterical, hiccuppy, little girl giggles. I couldn’t figure out how — or when — she was even breathing. Whatever she was saying, though, she was just cracking herself up. It was utterly irresistible and I, too, soon dissolved into hysterical, hiccuppy giggles. It was probably the best conversation I’d had in quite a while.

Finally, there was a bit longer pause. I thought perhaps she’d passed out. Pressing the phone closer to my ear, I managed to hear her heavy breathing on the other end. She started to giggle again, then I asked:

“Piper, did you leave some cookies out for Santa?”

Giggling and heavy breathing stopped. A hush fell over our conversation.

“Ye-aah.”

“Oh, that’s good! Did he eat them?”

“Ye-aah.”

“Wow. That’s pretty neat, huh?”

“Ye-aah.”

There was a pause, then she whispered these exact, polite words:

“May I tell you someping ewse?”

“You may.”

She was suddenly back up to full volume and speed:

“HE WEFT ONY WITTLE KWUMBS, TEE TEE!”

“Wow! Really? Santa must have been really hungry.”

“Ye-aah. But we dint gib him a wot ’cause he’s so big.”

“Well, that was a good idea.”

“Ye-aah.” She was hushed again. So I said:

“Well, what should we do now?”

“I dunno.”

“Hmmm …. well, I could get you!” She loves to be “got.”

She chided me, “Tee Tee, you’re not eben in my house.”

“Well, I don’t know. I still think I could get you. You’d better run!”

And you know what? She did. With the cordless phone. Across the wood floors. I could hear her little feet running, racing. Once again, she and I were both giggling uncontrollably as I “chased” her through the house.

Again, probably the best conversation I’d had in quite a while.

Piper ran and I chased — complete with “gotcha” noises — until we were suddenly “busted” by mom. My sister took the phone, and, rightly assuming it was me, said:

“What are you DOING, Tray?”

“Chasing Piper.”

“Oh …….. WHAT?”

Hmmmm …. it’s hard to explain, I guess.

Just the best conversation.