Undercover Christmas Magic

Who knew my former career as an undercover CIA agent with top-secret clearances would prepare me for my largest role as mom to four? Unfortunately my cover was nearly blown for the first time disguised as Santa! Tooth Fairy, Santa, Easter Bunny, you name it, it's an easy job if my husband would only follow my rules...admit nothing, deny everything, make counteraccusations. We still have an 8-year-old and I have undercover magic left to give!

Last Saturday, while counting the Portland Trailblazers basketball tickets Santa had carefully delivered to each of our six stockings, my husband announced we were missing a ticket for seat 7. Oh s*&%! The barcoded ticket I discreetly printed on our color printer must've been thrown away with the wrapping paper on Christmas Day. How was I possibly going to cover my tracks and print another ticket without the kids knowing in the ten minutes before we left?

"Santa's cheap!" sang my 13-year-old son laughing. Granted, the elves purchased tickets in the 300-nosebleed section where oxygen is required to climb to your seat, but it wasn't cheap!

"Yep, there are only 5 tickets here!" my husband stated concerned. Wink, wink; eye contact failed so I turned my head motioning him to stop. Oblivious to my discreet signals, he asked how I could print another. Our kid's ears immediately perked up and I jumped out of my chair before it was too late. 

I'll admit my husband is great at a lot of things, but clandestine tradecraft is not his modus operandi! Think quickly, I told myself racing upstairs. My CIA skillset honed thanks to parenthood, I formulated a plan. Admit nothing, deny everything, make counteraccusations, and most importantly, STALL!

Jogging back downstairs, I proudly announced I found the missing basketball ticket in our bedroom drawer. "Huh, I must've put it there after Christmas," he replied confused. Grateful he fell for my counteraccusation and didn't ask for proof, 'Operation Secret Santa' was back in action!

Unfortunately, he had no clue I needed to print another ticket. Left with few options, I headed back upstairs, ostensibly for a change of shoes this time. Calling him for a private rendezvous, my husband insisted on heading to the car. "But I need to talk to you!" I whispered in hushed frustration from the top of the stairs as he ignored my pleas. Setting vanity aside, I announced with great gusto, "but dinner gave me diarrhea!" Sure as shit, they left.

Finally, peace and quiet on the throne! I breathed a sigh of relief, only to find my daughter stalling in the living room. Like a spy, her 15-year-old brain always attune to our private adult conversations, I feared she was privy to my cover-up.

"OMG, I feel so sick, please go tell dad to be patient!" I yelled, running to the bathroom with feigned urgency. In order to save the magic of Christmas for our family once and for all, I simply needed to print the goddamn Trailblazer ticket alone. Still scanning her phone, I begged her to leave before dad got mad. Grateful to hear the front door slam shut, I pressed print. 

I could hardly believe my bad luck!! The ticket printed in black and white instead of the matching red Trailblazer graphics. I knew Santa's cover was busted unless I had a few minutes alone with my husband before the game. 

"Let's leave our cell phones in the car," he announced parking blocks from the Moda Center. The thought of leaving my phone was enough to give me diarrhea! What if my suspicious printout was a fraud and I needed my phone with the emailed ticket barcode to enter the arena? I actually began to feel sick.

"Why does mom get her phone?" my daughter smugly chimed in.

"Good question," my husband agreed, shooting me a quizzical glance.

"I'm taking mine in case of an emergency and for pictures," I insisted, stating that when you are in your forties, and not fifteen, you get the choice! "What if there's a shooting or earthquake given the latest headlines?" I reasoned. "Chances of that are rare," my husband added. Seriously? C'mon man, work with me!

Sure enough, our teen daughter was glued to us like white on rice walking to the game, a strangely obvious annoyance given her need to break free every other day. I had no choice but to get angry and apologize later.

"Seriously, I need 5 minutes alone with your dad before all the forced family fun! You want us to stay married right?" I said, barely believing the words that came out of my mouth before she replied, "At least I'll have two Christmases!" My blood boiling and stomach churning, it worked and she took off.

"Why are you so angry?" my husband asked clueless. You've got to be kidding me! Begging him to distract the kids once we arrived at the Moda Center, I explained our mismatched tickets could be scanned and my cover salvaged. Fingers crossed, we approached the children huddled in conspiratorial fashion outside the entrance. 

Going above and beyond the call of duty he distracted the kids with metal detector shenanigans and was ultimately pulled aside for a pat down by security. I couldn't help but laugh hysterically along with the kids that dad was getting just what he deserved! Relieved the magic of Santa would live another year, I was ready for a celebratory beer.

Christmas is now more about experiences in our family. While parenting days are sometimes long, the years are increasingly short and there's no time like the present to believe in the magic of Forced Family Fun and a Trailblazers victory!

Admit nothing, deny everything, and make counteraccusations to keep the spirit going is my motto and I'm confident our older children will play along as long as they want presents. Although next year, I'll be sure to inventory all Santa tickets on Christmas Day!