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Geez, did this kid have every question in the world?

“He…he’s made of magical dust. So, he sort of evaporates into…tiny particles and then reforms when he’s out of the chimney.”

“If he evaporates, why does he need gravity boots?”

Harper snorted beside me as I struggled to come up with the right answers.

“The gravity boots pull the particles down the chimney. They’re sort of attached to him on an imaginary string.”

I held my breath, waiting for her to contradict me, but thankfully, she looked away and started talking with Gracie, pulling off her gloves. I couldn’t believe she’d kept them on for this long. Getting gloves on Gracie was like wrestling a bear, but now that we were inside, she’d refused to take them off.

Eden could convince her to do anything, which I was grateful for. My daughter was about to bake alive in her winter gear.

“That was a close one,” Harper whispered. “Where did you come up with gravity boots?”

“I was watching Friends the other day.”

“I don’t want to know,” she chuckled, shifting James in her arms. “Thankfully, this one’s not old enough to ask questions yet.”

“Thank God,” I muttered. “I’m not doing this more than once.”

“Doing what?”

“This whole thing. Seeing Santa? This line is ridiculous. Why would anyone do this more than once?”

“To see their children’s eyes light up when they see Santa and all his magic,” Harper said, ever optimistic about everything.

“You can get that same reaction by shoving some toys under their nose. What’s the big deal? He’s just a fat man in a suit.”

Harper glared at me when I said that just a little too loud.

I felt a tug on my arm and looked over at Eden. “How does Santa know if I’ve been good or bad?”

“Well, he’s all-knowing.”

“But how is he all-knowing?”

“He just is.”

“But how?” she asked in frustration, not letting this go.

“He has spies everywhere.”

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Everywhere?”

“Yep.”

“Even in our house?”

“Especially in our house.” I leaned over, figuring I’d lay it on thick and really scare her into behaving. “They’re watching you when you sneak into the cabinet and grab extra cookies.”

Her cheeks flushed red as she looked away.

“And they see you when you stay up at night when you’re really supposed to be asleep.”

Her head whipped back to mine. “I don’t do that.”

I shook my head at her. “I’ve seen your television on a few times. Do you really think they don’t see that, too?”