The spirit of Santa is probably the most sacred of all childhood truths, welled up in thehearts and souls of the young-at-heart everywhere. In this age of cynicism and our quickly-aging youngsters, in order to keep this alive in our house, we have a simple rule which passes the lips and nothing more: "Those who believe (in Santa) receive (from Santa)." Period. End of story. It's really a simple tenet, leaping over questioning glances by those who claim to know better and those who, at age 29, still want stuff. If you do not believe in Santa, then no gifts from the jolly one-it's your choice. Knowing this, no one should be surprised upon, when asking my 15 year old if he believes in Santa,he says "Yes!"

As a family, we spend time together as much as possible, knowing well that time speeds by and that people eventually scatter out of the front door beckoning to the rings of girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends. One of our 'traditions' is to watch TV together. On a couch, we where all mesh comfortably, sprawled out in nuclear familial bliss on a couch we laugh together through the many ridiculous commercials for Christmas. Now, remembering the believing in Santa rule is more a "we ask, you tell" rule (meaning, we ask if you believe you say "yes," and that is it) my oldest son, in a moment of what I can only apply as hormonal insanity, made a slight slip recently.

This surprise event erupted during one particular advertisement for a bagged cookie mix where a young son caught his father sneaking Santa's cookies into his mouth from a decorated plate. The young son shrieked that Santa won't come if there are not cookies! He won'thewon'thewon't! Thismade my teenaged son particularly giddy.

"Hey kid!" my 15 year old son called to the TV thinking himself particularly clever that evening. "You've been robbed! That Santa is a fraud!"

In a sudden epiphany, his eyes caught mine, and he slowly and painfully turned to his youngest sister sitting there at his feet. The look of immediate abject fear on his face revealed that he'd made an inadvertent joke that could unravel a 6 year old like a tight rubber band became instantly apparent and, whiter than Nicole Kidman, he stammered, "I mean-! Santa will see it's a fraud if his cookies are gone!"

The 6 year old never looked around, instead entrenched in an ad for cookies. "I like cookies," she said dreamily.

My son sighed and collapsed internally, mentally whacking himself upside the head for saying something which, to older folks would might been funny, but could be particularly detrimental to someone who still believes in the Easter Bunny. A last-minute save...The boy lives another day.

I was reviewing my most recent ebay acquisition (I'd shopped Victoriously) when the same youngest cookie-loving daughter stealthily ninja-jumped behind me and gasped, "WOW! Mom that is really cool! What is that!"

My mouth gaped as the catlike child looked at the Hello Kitty Pineapple-shaped juice bar play set that I had "Shopped Victoriously" for and won in the last few seconds of the auction. There, in its pink and peppy glory, Hello Kitty awaited with a coconut bra to grant 6 year olds their wishes for blendered beverages-- and all for only $6 plus shipping.

It was supposed to be a surprise, but when you have Ninja children who drop upside-down from the ceiling from suspended wires while wearing black unitards and night vision goggles, you just can't predict this stuff.

Looking for a save on this one I said, "Well, what do you think? Isn't it great?! Doesn't it look like a great toy?"

"I guess," she shrugged. "We could play with it, I mean."

Trying to drum up some frenzied excitement, I countered, "But look! When you push the blender she does a hula dance." I hula'd in my seat for emphasis.

"Yeah. I could play with that," she ceded thoughtfully. Her speech sped up, eyes gleaming a bit. "We could play with that with the Little People Merry-Go-Round and they can have drinks!"

"Drinks! Yes! Drinks for everyone!" I celebrated.

Still working the moment with every twitch of motherly cleverness I possessed, I announced, "Now close your eyes and wish for Santa to bring this to you for Christmas! Say, 'Santa, for Christmas, I want a Hello Kitty Pineapple Juice Bar with a hula-action Kitty who dances when I push the blender and serves plastic beverages with the little fruit slices in them!'"

Obediently, my youngest nodded. She clenched her little warm fists tight and squeezed her eyes perfectly shut. She was working this wish with all of her might. I could see her there, amid torrents of shiny wrapping paper, crinkled, falling aside, and the dreamlike shivers of a small girl entirely ensconced in Hello Kitty wishes. I saw her, in that angelic moment, dancing and twirling in pink and glittering slow motion, new toy and the affectations of a graceful ballerinawith her beloved Christmas nutcracker. The six-year -old stood there before me, body squinched up, concentrating between missing grade school teeth, and then said with conviction, "Dear Santa, I wish for a... a... a... blacktoyhorseandacowboydoll!"

My mouth fell open, as wrapping paper moments and prancing-toed pixies changed into an Edward Munch Scream of me gripping my face and and a slackening jaw as the skin melted from my head into the background. I gaped at the computer screen. Then I looked at the beaming Ninja-girl, relieved for having been able to unleash that moment of childhood excitement, which brings shopping Victoriously down to a level of shopping Vaingloriously.

It was then in that exact segment in time that it hit me-- that sudden moment of enlightenment revealing itself to wary parents everywhere who purchased the Hello Kitty pineapple juice bar, only to find out that their child wanted the black toy horse andthe cowboy:

Santa is bad.

I went into the kitchen and licked the top of each of his cookies.