Where’s Ho Ho?

Christmas Eve is when my dad’s family get together.  Five out of the six siblings with their significant others were there.  All but one of their children was accounted.  Three great-grandchildren.  Plus both sets of the parents/grandparents/great-grandparents where there.  At least it was held in my parents’ house, not my grandma’s double-wide.

One of my uncles dressed as Santa again.  Both my boys were hesitant to approach the stranger, but another uncle threw some presents to Santa to entice the boys, which worked.  The boys took their gifts, thanked him, and gave him a hug before getting the hell out of dodge.

About twenty minutes after my uncle got back to the party, Tornado S wandered the house.

Tornado S: Where Ho Ho?  Where Ho Ho?

Me: Santa had to go, Tornado S.  He has lots of other houses to stop at to give gifts to little boys and girls.

Tornado S: Where Ho Ho?  Where’s my pirate ship?

Did I mention all Tornado S wanted for Christmas was a pirate ship?

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Ho Ho

For some reason unknown to us, Tornado S has decided to call Santa, Ho Ho.  As in:

It’s Ho Ho!

What’s Ho Ho doing?

Ho Ho is flying!

There’s Ho Ho!

But Tornado E could do with out.

Tornado E: I don’t like Santa Claus.

The Husband: Why not?  He’ll bring you presents when you’re a good boy.

Tornado E: I like the presents.  I just don’t like Santa Claus.

Maybe it has to do with the fact my uncle dressed up as Santa last year for the kids, and it scared Tornado E senseless.

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