naughty list

This year was the first year that Z really got Christmas. He loved the lights and tree and the presents and, really, everything about the holidays.

He even embraced the idea of a nice list and a naughty list.

The whole Santa thing isn't something that gets stressed in my house. There is no omnipotent, jolly old man who gets to be the harbinger of discipline. There is no blatant threat of withholding presents if the boys don't behave. Even if there might have been ONE night that I mentioned that I would take back all of the presents if the boys didn't stop with their bickering. But only one.

One night, Z asked me if he was on the nice list. I told him he was, and he said, "Thank you, thank you, Mommy."

Right then and there, I should have known something was up. (It always is with Z.)

Fast forward to last night.

The boys were supposed to be cleaning their rooms. Instead, they were arguing about who really dumped out all of the action figures - - not dolls, mind you. I heard Z screech. A few seconds later, he stomped into the living room and exclaimed that Griff was on the naughty list. He even gave me a thumbs down sign just to take away any question that I might have.

Griff rolled his eyes and launched into a diatribe about why that was not actually the case.

When he was done, Griff looked over at Z. Z didn't say a word. He just slowly made a thumbs up sign with his fist and turned it down punctuating the movement with silent tears.