Kids Taking Care of Kids
Punky’s next door neighbor comes over to play now and I’m still not used to the idea that another adult trusts me enough to allow her daughter to play in a home where I’m in charge. It’s silly, I know, but in my mind, I still think of myself as a teenager, masquerading as a competent adult.
Anyway, last night, Punky asked if we could have “Marcy” over for dinner and I agreed. Punky requested macaroni and cheese and apple slices with caramel for the menu- I used my imagination and whipped up a macaroni and cheese dish that secretly contained a heaping helping of cauliflower puree and the girls were none the wiser. The scarfed it down.
While they were eating, the phone rang.
I picked it up. “Hello?” It was a recording from the school district. They only call a hundred times a week, with the most ridiculous announcements. But this time, I decided to have a little fun with it.
“Santa?” I said. “Hi! How’s it going?” Both girls stared at me.
“Oh, you’re busy making toys, huh? I know, Christmas is right around the corner.” I paused. “You want to know how the kids have been? Punky and Bruiser and Marcy and her brother Paul, right? Hold on, Santa.”
I put my hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Santa,” I whispered. “He wants to know if you and your brothers have been good.”
“Yes,” Punky said calmly, obviously accustomed to bizarre occurences like phone calls from Santa in the middle of dinner.
Marcy, though, was a little more worked up. “Well, I’ve been good,” she qualified, “but Paul has been really bad. He won’t share his toys with me.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll tell Santa.” I got back on the phone.
“Santa, Punky and Bruiser and Marcy have all been really good, but Paul has been bad…. Oh, you’ll bring them all toys? All except for Paul?” I put my hand over the mouthpiece again. “He says he’s bringing toys to everyone but Paul,” I whispered. “He’s bringing Paul a lump of coal.”
Marcy gasped. “Tell Santa Paul was good this afternoon!” she yelped. “He really was a good boy this afternoon!”
“Santa, Paul actually was really good this afternoon,” I said quickly into the phone. “Oh, so you will bring him toys? Okay, great. See ya later, Santa.” I hung up.
“Was that really Santa?” Marcy asked, stunned.
“Of course it was Santa,” I said. “How do you think he knows if you’ve been bad or good? He calls your neighbors.”
“I can’t wait to tell my mommy!” she said excitedly.
Later, we played an impromptu game we called “Mommy Monster,” in which I chased them around the house, roaring.
I’m not sure what her mommy made of Marcy’s stories when she went home later. If she asks me about it later, though, at least I have the good-mommy ammunition of sneaking cauliflower into her mac n cheese…
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
