Someone at preschool filled my son in on Santa.
With finer details like, “you gotta leave him some food. And you gotta put it in the chimney.”
At which time my son scribbled mental notes and reported all this to me in the kitchen while waving a steak knife in circles.
“What should we leave him?” I asked.
“You know.” my son started. “Things like a cough drop. Or a chunk of butter. He’d like that.”
“Yes,” I smiled. “Yes he would.”