Coal in the Stocking

The houses on our block light luminaria every Christmas Eve. This tradition has been going on as long as we've been living here (now almost eight years), and our little cul-de-sac usually gets 100% participation.

Last night, Scooter suddenly disappeared just before bedtime. After several fruitless minutes of searching, She Who Puts Up With Me noticed that all the luminaria in front of our house were dark. "Hadn't those all been lit?" she asked.

The light (metaphorically) went on. I threw on my jacket and shoes and charged outside. Sure enough, Scooter was halfway down the block, systematically blowing out the candles in all the luminaria.

I made him ring the doorbells for each of the neighbors whose candles he'd blown out, and apologize. One neighbor wasn't home, so Scooter will be going back today.

This morning, Scooter woke up to find coal (charcoal briquettes) in his stocking. Of course he knew why.

But the frustrating thing was that the coal didn't phase him in the slightest. Even after I explained that he could get actual presents instead of coal once he finished his restitution, he merrily continued playing with the black, sooty stuff. I finally had to take it away from him, since he was making such a mess.

Ah, parenthood.