Living Columns & Blogs

Paranoia setting in

We left the mall on Saturday after hearing The Polar Express read at Barnes and Noble by Hank Sauer, which was followed by a quick Santa lap sitting.

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.

“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.)