Earlier today Lydia was running all over the house while Steven and I attended to different things around the house: laundry, Sam, kitchen dishes, Lydia’s escapades. It’s a typical weekend day.
At this moment I was working on pictures and wasn’t quite paying attention to the outside world so it takes me a few moments to realize what Lydia is exclaiming over and over again from our bedroom . . . then it sinks in and I hear it.
“Bike! Bike! Bike! Bike! Bike!”
Ooooooh. “Oh no!” I shout as I run into the bedroom, where Steven has already arrived and is trying to explain, “Yes, but that isn’t yours. It’s not your bike.”
See, here’s where I did something really dumb. I offered to help Santa out by letting him keep a few things here early (it helps him save on shipping) but I never got around to really hiding this one big thing. Once Santa dropped the box by it’s just sat in another unmarked box on the floor of our bedroom. I was going to stow it away in a better spot but hey, she’s only two and a half. Kids that age don’t snoop yet.
Ha ha ha.
As I emerge on the scene, Lydia is confused and a bit put out since she’s reached a stage where everything is automatically her’s. Lately she sounds like one of those seagulls from Finding Nemo: “Mine? Mine? Mine?”
“Oh, Lydia,” I say, “that’s just a picture of a bike. It’s just a picture.”
“Oh. Okay,” she says, then runs off to wreak more havoc.
Steven folds up the box so the flaps don’t just flop open . . . and there it still sits.
I don’t know if I’ll make this deal with Santa next year.