She Knows Too Much

Today in Giant, she started out requesting the behemoth shopping cart with the truck front. She did that for a bit. Then in the chicken-stock aisle, she hopped out and decided to identify rice types--"This one looks good, Mom. It's little. This is the one Big Dad uses." Then she climbed into the seat which faces me. She can fit into it sideways, her whole lower half perpendicular to me as I make my way through the store. This is very good for sniffing her ear and neck. We spent 20 minutes with the musical cards, her favorite was the Charlie Brown one with "Hark the Herald."

All of my erranding, my stealth elfing operation is in danger. She has seen everything and there's nothing I can do about it. Knowledge of Santa's existence hangs precariously in the balance. She could easily tell her sibs that she saw me buy the Playmo Roman Arena at Marshalls and she saw me poring over fonts for the monogram on Clara's ballet bag. She could bring the Santa mythology down like so much wind to a house of cards.