Mommy, why is Santa in a pit in the basement?

Since I’ve had kids, I love Christmas more than ever….on December 25^th. But on June 26^th, I hate it with a passion that I normally reserve for automated phone systems and Matt Lauer.

Now before I start a virtual riot, I don’t mean the Jesus part (which should be the whole thing, but let’s face it, if you’re able to keep half-focused on the savior’s birth while grappling with some razor-elbowed wench for the last Hickory Farms cheese brick, then you’re really doing something). No, I’m referring to the Santa/presents/material gluttony part, which apparently is an infection that can flare up at any time of the year. And they don’t make a Valtrex for the I wants.

Since mid-April, Suttie has periodically suckered me into a game of yuletide 20 questions, which always follows the same sequence: How long is it going to be until Christmas? Is six months a long time? Do you think Santa is gonna bring me the Angry Birds Mega Fling game? Are Buddy and Holly still wearing their special clothes?

Now all of that should have made sense to you, except the last one if you weren’t privy to the tragedy of our shelf-dwelling elves last December. Long story short, I hid our elves on top of the kitchen chandelier, my unwitting husband turned on the lights, and the elves got toasted asses. Instead of scarring our son with the reality that his magical elf was really filled with charred rolls of cardboard, I added insult to injury by hot-gluing fabric to the burned spots and calling it “Special Scout Elf Trimming” (basically, our version of an elf’s Purple Heart). He bought it because kids are stupid, and now Buddy and Holly’s flannel patches are a permanent part of our holiday ethos.

Buddy's "special" trimming

Back to Christmas in June. I suppose that my biggest mistake was digging out Buddy and Holly and having them deliver Suttie’s replacement trampoline a couple of months ago (trampoline 1.0 ended up 200 feet in a wheat field after a storm). I saw photos on Facebook posted by other parents who had lovingly set up their off-season elves with signs that read, “Happy Easter, Cannon!” or “Santa let us visit because you’ve been such a good boy.”

Here at the O’Neal estate, Buddy and Holly’s note went a little something like this: “Suttie, here’s your trampoline. Quit talking so much in school and pay attention to your teacher. Santa is always watching…” followed by a collage of peering eyes that I cut out from outdated magazines. Listen, we bought those dead-eyed imps for a reason, people, and I’m not one to waste an opportunity for a little behavioral manipula…I mean, guidance.

But, jumping on the elf-powered bandwagon backfired because, immediately after that, Suttie took to singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” during his more productive potty breaks (he gets bored, and I won’t let him take the iPad like his dad does). Now, two months later, I’m one mid-summer reading of It’s Christmas, David! away from printing a fake newspaper with the headline, “Santa Killed in Rabid Reindeer Stampede…The Heat Miser Suspected of Foul Play.”

Which brings me to my final point (if we pretend that the above muddle was actually leading somewhere). To the network execs at Nickelodeon and Disney XD, why can’t you copy every other station and advertise diabetes testing supplies and life alert bracelets during the daytime hours? Instead, you run ads for every cheaply made, As Seen on TV gimmick under the sun, each of which my child now believes is part of what makes life worth living. This is only adding to his Christmas mania and my rapidly shrinking Grinch heart.

Every time he sees a commercial for Stompeez or Stuffies or those God forsaken Dreamlites, he says, “I like to stuff things or I love stomping; I’m gonna put that on my Christmas list for Santa to bring.” And I’m gonna tell you right now, if Santa even thinks about bringing a Slushy Magic into this house, ours will be the last non-existent chimney he ever jiggles his figgy pudding down.

So, heads up…if you continue to aggravate my child’s Christmas fever with plugs for a bunch of made-in-China parental torture devices that are gonna do nothing but take up space in my trash can come February, then we’ll be forced to switch over to PBS full time. And if you’ve ever seen an episode of LazyTown (aka, the world’s creepiest kids show) you know, if that happens, neither of us wins.

…..seriously though, why are half of the LazyTown characters prosthetic humans and the other half animated mannequins? It doesn’t make any damn sense, and it’s just one more Suttie question that I have to answer after “Why’s Rudolph’s nose so red?” (Because, son, he’s on that wacky dust, the billie hoke, Bernie’s gold dust, the Big C. His entire paycheck goes straight up his snout. Drugs are bad, Mmmkay).