I think my kid may figure out that I'm a fraud soon. Very, very soon.

It all started because of the now infamous "Princess ball." Miss Alexis was very clear in her negotiations with Santa that her true desire was for that Princess ball. The only problem was that Santa wasn't exactly sure whether she meant a baseball or a kickball or a bouncy ball or what. So, Santa squeezed into his Mommy costume and started asking questions.

"What kind of Princess ball?"

"What color is this Princess ball?"

"Did you see the Princess ball at Target?"

"Would you please just order the damn Princess ball online and I'll pay for it?"

OK, maybe Santa didn't ask that last question, but he thought about it. The kid keeps changing her description. One day it's small like a baseball. The next day, it's big and has a handle so you can sit and bounce on it. After that it has seven Princesses on it, but only after she changes its color from pink to purple to white to a hue only small people who like to drive parents crazy can see.

When Santa decided he was getting really confused and didn't have time for such shenanigans, he turned to the computer and went hunting for help. A few minutes later, he had found a photo of a pink kickball that happened to have a lot of Princesses on it. He emailed the photo to me and I showed it to Alexis. "Santa sent me an email and wants to know if his elves are supposed to make you a ball like this."

She nodded affirmatively and repeatedly said THAT was the right one.

Santa acquired it that very night and stuck it in my car trunk for safekeeping.

The VERY NEXT DAY, we went to Toys 'r Us to pick up a few things for some kids who don't like to torture their parents with contradictory reports of Princess balls and such. As we walked through the outdoor toys aisle, Mr. Husband spotted the purple bouncy ball that you sit on. He was under the impression that he was looking at what was The Princess Ball. I shook my head, "No," but he insisted it was.

After some silent debate that probably left the other shoppers wondering if we were senile, we finally asked Alexis. "Is this the kind of Princess ball that you want Santa to bring you?"

"Yes!" she said.

I might have smashed my head through the wall right then and there. I'll never tell.

A few awkward head gestures later, Mr. Husband and I decided to just buy the stupid thing, figuring we could return whatever ended up needing returned, or we could just give her both Princess balls and be done with it. I took Alexis to the bathroom while he grabbed the ball and the other things we had picked up and took them up front to pay.

As Alexis and I rejoined Mr. Husband at the front of the store, I realized that if you sort of squinted and tilted your head just right, you could see hints of the Princess ball through Mr. Husband's bag. I didn't know the head gesture for, "Put that behind your back NOW!" so instead I sort of distracted the kid and rushed us out the door into the blackness of the night.

A few hours later, a little voice cut through the dark silence in the car, "Can I play with my Princess ball when we get home?"

Us adults sat in stunned silence. Finally, I asked, "What Princess ball?"

"The Princess ball I got at the toy store. Can I play with it when we get home?"

I don't know if I managed to effectively talk my way out of that little mess or not. All I know is Santa ain't delivering no purple Princess ball and that Alexis is going to figure out this whole Santa thing entirely too soon.