Compromised

Our lovely caring son Jack has the makings of a top-notch counter-sniper team: incredible patience, an eagle eye, memory like an elephant and a bias of un-hesitating action. To wit:

Ol' Santa has been busy around the 'Boro, running hither and yon, directing her elves in all manner of ways to prepare for the coming of Christmas morn. In her sly way, she makes passing suggestions like "Wouldn't you like some galoshes from Santa, Jack?," hardly hesitating to hear the reply but busily moving on to other more pressing matters. It's hard to believe he even notices, though his eyes go briefly wide with excitement - maybe just a seed has been planted. He goes back to whatever near-mishap is close at hand, hardly missing a beat.

But remember he does. Oh yes - he remembers well.

One of Santa's well-meaning but non-detail-oriented elves put said galoshes way up on the top of the dresser, presumably out of sight of peering 3-year olds and their pack of smaller siblings. Said elf did not anticipate that Jack would climb up and stand on top of his bed to make sure the regularly-appearing items on top of his dresser were undisturbed. And then, faithful readers, comes the pitter-patter of little soon-to-be-clad-in-yellow-rubber feet:

"Mommy!!! Santa came early and brought my galoshes! Come see!!"

Silence. Bewilderment. Chagrin. Sniper in the open. Compromised.

"Umm, hey big guy.. I talked to Santa the other day and he was having trouble finding your size, but I found some at the store so I went and got you some. Want to go ahead and try them on?"

Back to the drawing board.