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Tommy Jackson, five years old with boundless energy, was bouncing off the walls. Christmas Eve was here, and the excitement of Santa’s arrival was too much for his tiny frame to handle. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, had spent the whole day decorating cookies, wrapping last-minute gifts, and listening to Tommy’s enthusiastic theories about how Santa managed to visit every house in one night.
But now, it was 8:00 p.m., and bedtime loomed.
“Tommy,” said Mrs. Jackson, barely suppressing a yawn, “it’s time to brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”
“Bed? Now?” Tommy protested, wide-eyed. “But I haven’t made sure the cookies are perfect! What if Santa doesn’t like chocolate chip this year? Or what if he’s allergic to milk now?”
His father chuckled, rubbing his temples. “Santa loves chocolate chip. Remember, you helped bake them today. Now, come on, teeth brushing time!”
Tommy reluctantly grabbed his toothbrush, but once in the bathroom, he got distracted pretending the toothbrush was a rocket ship zooming around the sink. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Jackson poked her head in to find him foaming at the mouth like a tiny, giggling dragon.
“Tommy! You’re supposed to be brushing your teeth, not starting a space mission!”
“Okay, okay,” he said, finally scrubbing his teeth.
Next came pajamas. Mrs. Jackson handed him his favorite green ones with little reindeer on them. But when Tommy put them on, he stopped, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“These aren’t Santa-proof! What if he sees me and thinks I’m a reindeer and tries to take me to the North Pole?”
“Tommy,” Mr. Jackson said patiently, “Santa is very smart. He knows you’re not a reindeer. Now hop into bed.”
Instead of hopping into bed, Tommy dashed into the living room. “I need to make sure the fireplace is clear! What if Santa gets stuck because I left a toy too close?”
His parents groaned and followed him. Sure enough, Tommy was rearranging his toy cars and trucks, placing them in a perfect line away from the fireplace.
“Okay, the fireplace is Santa-ready!” Tommy declared.
“Great,” said Mrs. Jackson, scooping him up. “Now it’s time for you to get Tommy-ready for bed.”
But Tommy wasn’t done. “What about carrots for the reindeer? I didn’t check if we have enough!”
“We do,” Mr. Jackson said firmly, placing Tommy back in his bed. “You’re just stalling now, buddy. Santa can’t come until you’re asleep.”
That got Tommy’s attention. “He can’t?”
“Nope,” said Mrs. Jackson. “Santa has a magic radar that tells him if kids are awake. If you’re not asleep, he skips our house and comes back later.”
Tommy’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t want him to skip us!”
“Then lie down, close your eyes, and think of happy Christmas dreams,” Mrs. Jackson said softly, tucking him in and kissing his forehead.
“But I’m not sleepy…” Tommy murmured, already blinking heavily.
“Goodnight, Tommy,” his dad whispered, turning off the light.
As the quiet of the house settled, Tommy’s parents tiptoed out, sighing with relief. For the first time that night, the house was calm.
Later that evening, Santa’s magic radar picked up one very asleep little boy. The cookies and milk disappeared, a few carefully wrapped gifts appeared under the tree, and Santa let out a soft chuckle.
“Merry Christmas, Tommy Jackson,” he said, tipping his hat.
And when Tommy woke up the next morning to the sight of his Christmas dreams come true, his tired parents smiled, knowing all the shenanigans were worth it.
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