I did not give in on any disciplinary measures, I did not buy treats at the checkout counter, I did not allow any boyfriends to spend the night, I did not buy beer. (Not that the last two would be issues yet, I have just spent too much time at home watching daytime television this week.)

Nope. I convinced KC that Leah's big Santa present this year should be the Barbie Dream House.

I know, I know. I had a giant hissy when my mother-in-law bought her a Barbie after I specifically said no. But that was when she was 2 or 3, and her age at the time was my main objection, not Barbie herself. And frankly, after the advent of Bratz dolls, buying Barbie is practically like buying a Gloria Steinem action figure.

If you think that is not even remotely possible, you have never seen one of those godforsaken Bratz dolls up close.

Leah's Christmas list is usually pretty modest, and this year was no exception; she's usually easy to please, and mostly her list was simple: books, DVDs, Twister, a Barbie, a Bratz doll (ick), and Barbie's Dream House. KC was like, dude, those are expensive. But I couldn't help it. I always, always wanted one, and never got it. I have the perfect place for it in her room, we shopped around and found a good price ($85 at Wal-Mart, so I am just thirty-one flavors of corporate evil this week)...and I did it because I think this is our last hurrah for Santa Claus this year and I just want to see that look in her eyes just one more time.

I'm going to miss that so much when it's gone, that look. It's that look you have when you don't necessarily worry about money, about relatives, about reciprocity, about the day after. You still believe that Santa is magic and Mom can email him at the last minute, that the reindeer left little bites of carrot on the porch roof, that since you don't have a chimney that leaving a special Santa key outside helps Santa get inside your house. You believe your dad when he says that Santa likes to change things up a little, so maybe you should leave out a cup of coffee and some Almond Joys.

You still believe in magic.

I just want to prolong that in leah as long as possible. In so many ways she's growing up so fast; she lost that baby fat in her cheeks and chin, she's all knees and elbows and angles and a budding sarcastic streak. (A great deal of the last is my fault. Heh.) She wants makeup and high heels and the High School Musical soundtrack.

But she also wants a Barbie Dream House, and if that's what it takes to keep her a little girl just that much longer, then I would pay anything.