Well, Santa, come to think of it....
So this afternoon, we go to cut a tree at this tree farm in Half Moon Bay. This place is doing the full-court Christmas press -- a red and white train (the Santa Fe railroad -- get it?), a guy dressed up as a reindeer, and of course, a Santa.
My kids get the opportunity to tender their requests.
First up is my nine-year-old daughter. She asks for Norah Jones CDs, and gets into a discussion with Santa about NJ's Xmas album (which, by the way, I never knew existed).
Next up is one of my six-year-old twin boys. He asks for a Rescue Heroes Hyperjet, which is some sort of plane for these pornographically exaggerated action figures made by Fischer-Price.
Finally, the other twin (affectionately known around these parts as Burger Boy) steps up. Now mind you, Burger Boy has been expressing skepticism about various Santas for the past few weeks, pointing out that certain ones can't be real because they don't have glasses, etc.
What does he ask for?
"Can I have your list of who's naughty and who's nice?"
And I'm thinking, now that's planning. Not to mention, the gift that keeps on giving.
