We as parents know how hard summer can be. Kids home, fighting, wanting stuff to do, leaving the house a mess, forgetting to brush their teeth without me hounding them, going to bed late, sleeping in, waking up the baby, crawling in my lap when I'm on the computer, slaming doors,and if only we could just get out of the house more-- they want to go places and it can be just too hard to take them there due to the baby.
Therefore, I am grateful to Santa. He has showed up in our lives twice this summer. The first time was at the St. Mary's campground. He was a bus driver for a youth camp. He hung out with us a bit, and was sweet to the girls. Clare just knew he was the real one. She even checked his cell phone when he wasn't looking, and sure enough, the name on it was 'Santa.'
A few weeks later we were driving to Bigfork, and a Santa was red hot on our tail, driving his red Mustang convertible. He was following us super close and finally passed.
That sealed the deal. The kids knew that Santa really was watching them. "Do you think it's because we've been fighting so much this summer?" They asked.
"I don't know, but I would say that's a very good guess."
The fighting has actually been better since. Not gone completely. Not perfect. Not even great, but better.
Thanks, Santa. Clearly, you were in my summer survival kit.
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