In the escalating love-hate struggle between the 3 and 6 year-old, I have been cautiously optimistic that the 6-y-o would eventually start using her brain and stop using her tears. Yesterday, instead of the usual scream like a banshee and wail in misery because he “wouldn’t stop looking at me,” Amy locked herself in her bedroom. Well, locked is not an accurate description. Since Evan has an unnatural ability to pick any lock, Amy barricaded herself in her bedroom. Evan pounded on the door and demanded to be let inside. Amy calmly replied that she was busy telling Santa about the very naughty Evan. Evan freaked. I could see the gleam of satisfaction in Amy’s eyes shining through the closed door, sideways chair, tiny desk and pile of stuffed animals. Evan grabbed my cell phone and demanded that I call Santa. He mumbled something about being a good boy in the phone and went back to check on Amy. She moved the pile of furniture and let Evan in the room. I was amused with Amy, sad for Evan and a little bit creeped out by the drama. Was Amy just pretending or was she actually praying to Santa Claus?