Once in the car my son asked me for the candy cane that he got from Santa. I handed it to him.
“Why is it broken? Santa gave me a broken candy cane, Mommy!” he squealed.
“No, I think it just broke in my purse honey,” I told him, and I was pretty sure it had.
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“Oh no, Mommy, what does it mean does Santa not like me?” he whined.
“Really,” I tried to reassure him, “I am sure I broke it on accident.”
“You are just saying that, Mom,” he said.
(And for the record I really dislike it when he calls me mom instead of mommy… it sounds so… grown up.)