Bad Santa

So the Christmas season is officially over and I can't believe I forgot to share two things with you...

The first being the Kardashian Christmas Card Photo (below)



Is it just me or do they all look unhappy here? I bet they weren't thinking about "the reason for the season" during this photo shoot, I guarantee they were thinking about about the fact that Kim can't be single for any period of time...the thought of her possibly dating Kanye West would make me have that look on my face too.

...And the 2nd thing I forgot to share with you this year, is the disturbing message we (and by we, I mean me) got from Santa this year.

***If you have kids that are still believers…please stop here for two reasons; 1) I’m a little concerned that you let your young children read this blog and 2) this is a story of how my 8 year old almost became a nonbeliever this year.

So Gibson brings home a phone number, given to him by his 2nd grade teacher, to call and see if you have been put on Santa’s naughty or nice list. We call it, on speaker phone, and this is the message we get…

“You have been confirmed on the naughty list, you will receive nothing for Christmas you naughty little bitch, WTF, our analysis of your phone concluded that you have completed one of the following; robbery, kidnapping, or murder, but chances are your crime was not stopping at a stop sign and throwing recyclable goods in the trash. Regardless, we have concluded that you will receive nothing for Christmas, which of course, is the reason why Santa hates your guts.“

I kid you not…this is the message that we listened to…all the way through.

Now some of you might be asking, why didn’t you hang up after you heard the word bitch? I tried, I really did, but it was almost as if my arm was too heavy to lift and I couldn’t disconnect. I was enthralled.

It’s not an excuse, but it is what it is.

At the end of the conversation, I looked over at Gibson and he looked a little like this…



I spent the next 20 minutes reassuring him that someone was messing with Santa’s phone and that he didn’t mean any of those things. He seemed fine and went to bed great.

The next morning, however, I was awakened by the sounds of little footsteps coming into my room even before my alarm went off. Gibby, that’s what I call him, snuggled up next to me and said “Mom, I was up all night thinking about that message from Santa. I wanted you to know that I don’t think he really meant all of those mean things he said about YOU.”

Ahhh…the innocence of an 8 year old at Christmas.

At least I still had a believer for another year.