That's it! I'm calling 1-800-SANTA

Resslin' Around by Casey Ressler

My long-distance phone bill is astronomical these days, and it's all because of prank phone calls.

See, my daughter is four now, and this year more than ever, the sprit of Santa Claus is alive and well. She knows full well that he's keeping notes on her behavior, and she doesn't want to jeopardize that Hello Kitty stuff on her list by being bad.

Occasionally, however, she slips, like we all do. When I slip, it usually involves an empty bottle of liquor, some poker cards and an empty wallet the next day. When she slips, however, something much more drastic happens -- a phone call goes to Santa.

We've moved past the threat being good enough to make her eat her green beans or stop pulling the dog's ears. Now, being a bit older and a lot more savvy, she actually wants to see me dialing before she "be's good." She also knows that Santa isn't a local call, so I have to improvise with a few more digits.

Right now, there's probably some dude in Chicago with caller ID wondering who in the heck keeps calling him. Each one goes the same:

"Santa, this is Casey, Madison's dad. Again."

Then, in the background, he hears some screaming and immediate promises to shape up. Click, the phone gets hung up, and everything's right in the Ressler household, while things are a little bizarre back in Chicago.

It reminds me of when I was a kid, and the thought of my mom calling Santa struck fear into my heart.

Another holiday "tradition" with little kids has required my wife and I to start studying the dictionary. Since the middle of November, our conversations about Christmas have all involved spelling virtually every word out, so Madison can't figure it out.

"Did you get the C-A-R-E-B-E-A-R C-A-S-T-L-E?" I asked my wife the other night.

"Dad, does that spell Hello Kitty?" Madison asked. "Or Pok/mon? You spelled Care Bears, didn't you? Tell me, dad. I won't tell anyone else."

When I wouldn't tell her what I spelled, she started getting a little more belligerent and persistent in finding out what I was talking about.

That's when I busted out the phone and made my fifth 10-second phone call to Chicago, where Santa very well could be a plumber.

Casey Ressler (valleylife@frontiersman.com) has Santa's cell phone number, just in case.