I Should Rub Her Head For Good Luck

I Know She Knows But She Isn't Sure She Knows

The first time I made the threat, I didn't think anything of Alexis' lack of a reaction. The same thing happened the second time. But the third time? Oh, the third time I uttered the words, "You better be careful. Santa's watching, you know," and Alexis just sort of looked through me and kept on being a jerk?

Oh, I knew.

She knows.

I don't know exactly how she has it all figured out, but I'm not at all surprised. I actually thought the gig was up two years ago, so the fact that we've managed to squeeze another couple of years of magic out of the whole conspiracy is pretty fantastic.

For the past month or so, the kid hasn't really reacted one way or the other when mentions of Santa have floated through the air. I'm guessing she's smart enough to know that it's best to just shut up and not admit to anything. She has to realize that admitting that she knows will have negative consequences. She's apparently not willing to gamble and risk losing out on some loot.

She's not willing to risk anything to the point that she's gotten herself worked up into a tizzy. The thing is that I'm not planning on bringing the whole thing up, so if she doesn't come clean or just flat-out ask, I'm going to keep on playing the Santa game. My lack of reaction to her lack of reaction seems to have gotten under her skin because now? Now she's worried.

Panic has set in with the kid. She knows, but she has decided that maybe, just maybe, she's wrong. That means that every minute of every day has to be spent covering her butt. Just in case.

If anybody needs dishes put away, laundry folded, or furniture dusted, just let me know. Project Do Whatever Mom Asks is under way, so we might as well enjoy it while we can.

I Suppose I Should Tell You About This

I'm by no means the smartest person to ever walk this planet, nor am I quite as dumb as some people seem to think I am.

(Don't ask. It's not worth our time to fully acknowledge that story.)

But there was a time in my life when I looked around a crowded room and realized a very liberating truth -- I was the dumbest person in the room. Fun fact time! It didn't happen that one day about ten years ago when I presented at a Mensa conference. In a room full of hundreds of Mensa members, I was able to hold on to the certainty that I wasn't the dumbest person in the room. Not even close. Ahem.

Rather, the time I looked around and knew without a doubt that I was the dumbest person in a crowded room came in 6th grade when I somehow made it to the State Finals of the Math Meet. For those of you who are blissfully oblivious, a Math Meet is like a Spelling Bee, except that instead of stressing over nouns and adjectives and the such, you get to stress out about long division and word problems and BLURGH. ME NO LIKEY MATHY MATH.

I mean, I don't hate it. I don't totally suck at it. But I very definitely dumb-lucked my way to the State Finals. I knew it and found it to be absolutely hysterical. You can't really stress out about whether or not you're going to answer a question wrong if you have a "Meh! I'm just going to have fun!" attitude.

Last week when I finally got home from dropping off the Christmas Crazy loot (big thanks to Mindy, Ginger, and Jennifer for your help!), I settled in on the couch and started carefully doing a little math. I needed to add in Ben's contribution, plus some books that I had picked up, and the items from X Shadyside Fitness. There were also a couple of odds and ends and carry the one, plus six, minus this, times that . . . WHAT?

That was my reaction. To go WHAT?

I didn't trust my math. I know I'm no Math Genius, but the total couldn't be right. I decided to go to bed and check my work the next day.

So I did. And I got the same answer. What the WHAT?

I was functioning on something like six total hours of sleep in three days at that point, so I threw the white flag in the air and decided to hit the pause button on totalling all that Crazy.

A solid eight hours of sleep later (WOOOOOOH-WEEEEEE!), I started from scratch. I tore apart my spreadsheet and double-checked every single line and every single column and every single receipt and every single estimate and ...

... do you get the impression that I might be stalling?

I totally am.

You guys.

YOU GUYS.

I've done the math and I've checked it ten times. The total is The Total and can we all get ready to throw some confetti in the air and cheer?

Ready?

$10,021.36

OH HELL YES.

Pat yourselves on the back, please. You done good.