Young Motherhood

As I was cooking dinner last night, my little Tricky was playing nearby. She had taken four random pillows from around the house and placed them on the floor with a doll on top (face down, by the way). One was covered with my dishcloth, one with a wash cloth, and two with small blankets which Tricky had asked to borrow - no, she did not ask for my dishcloth, but that's okay. At one point when I glanced over, she was sitting among the four babies patting their backs in turn. Sweet, I thought.

A few minutes later, I heard some huffing and puffing. Tricky was standing away from her dolls, arms crossed, with a VERY angry look on her face. "What's wrong, Trick?" (Yes, although my other two children are not called by their online moniker, Tricky is.)

"Santa is not helping me get my babies 'sleep!" she exclaimed, all the while frowning and standing with her arms crossed. She even added a stomp of her foot for emphasis.

I thought I was going to fall laughing right into our dinner. Not only is my youngest in some sort of relationship with Santa Claus, but he wouldn't even help her with the children!