Our little guy was pretty pumped up about Santa this year -- probably more than he'll ever be again, and I may have taken it just a little too far.
Hamslice kept talking about hearing Santa's sleigh bells, and how he was looking forward to Christmas Eve when Santa would come. We made homemade cookies for Santa in the afternoon and left them out with some apples for the reindeer when we put Hamslice to bed.
And then I should have left it at that. But no, I remembered that we actually have a section of sleigh bells in the house, so Hambone muffled those in a blanket and brought them to the third floor, shaking his head and sighing the whole time.
At 5:00 am Christmas morning, I couldn't sleep anymore (unlike the boys) so I took the bells up on the roof and jangled them for all I was worth. And I stomped across the roof deck like a herd of deer. 5 minutes... nothing. 6 minutes... nothing.
I opened the door and called down to Jake that Santa was here, and a sleepy (and surprisingly crabby) little boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He said, "Go to bed Mom, I don't believe in Santa."
Not to be miffed right away, I asked if he wanted to open presents now or go back to bed. He opted for bed.
Completely deflated, I also returned to my bed. I would say "maybe next year" but I doubt it will work then either. *sigh*