Excuse what some might call blaspheme pouring out right now. But this is for real.
The holidays come early at this house, because this time of year there is something out there that trumps god when we're talking about instilling fear in my child. Its name is Santa Claus. She sat wide-eyed at the kitchen table yesterday when Sammy 'n Saschi 'n i told her that if she wasn't good, Santa would bring her no presents. You've never seen a precocious child sit straighter in her chair in such a short time. You may never have fathomed the glint of utter awe in an uppity five-year old's eyes.
Say what you will about bribery and Pavlovian measures being wayward means to wrangle the young. But when you come home burned out from another day of bosses and traffic and pithy possibilities for dinner left in the fridge, a quick reminder about the jolly old fat man can accomplish much more than the adult-sized tantrum you'd otherwise throw to get her to behave. This is not to say we will ever blast Christmas music or carefully adorn our home with lights. But at the outrageously early hour right around Halloween, when the dollar store decides its had its turn with orange and black, and now it's time for red and green, for this one reason alone do i welcome the holiday glut.