Last night, we went on a very important mission. Two important missions, in fact. We've been waiting and waiting until Daddy had enough time to come with us. Waiting so long that little hands had lost their first version of the letter so we had to write a new one at the last minute.
The escalator, which started out shiny and modern, became older and narrower the higher we climbed. Up, up, up to the eighth floor of Macy's where there is a very special mailbox.
And then, into the long line, past a miniature village and dancing bears and a talking tree and where the (over the top - hey, there might be a talent scout in the audience!) elves danced and sang and wound the kids up into a frenzy until at last, there he was.
Evie was a little scared at first. After watching A Christmas Story, she didn't want to get pushed down a slide with Santa's boot. But of course, the real Santa would never do that. The real Santa would say that of course she wanted a unicorn, he knew that she loved them. And he would not flinch when Briton blurted out the longest gift spiel ever (Iwantalegoninjagodoubleswordredspinnerthatdoesn'texistandthreecardsthatdon'texistbutthatyoumakesothatI'mtheonlyoneintheworldwhohasthem.)
It's good to believe.