So one more parenting shortcut has gone the way of the dinosaur.

First was the hair; she didn’t have any, so not doing it was a given. Now we fight over ponytails. Then there were the days of picking any outfit I wanted her to wear; now every morning she tries to dictate the process. As reliable as our tax bill coming right in time for Christmas, she always picks clothes in the laundry at the moment. Le sigh.

The latest is Santa.

When we saw him in the holiday parade, she pointed from her cozy spot in the Swift and asked “Mom? Dat Santa?”, and I was a little dizzy for a second because I realized this was finally my big moment – I could explain Santa and have it stick. Weeee! Santa bribes, I was not above.

I tried out my Santa line that weekend already: “Maybe Santa Claus will bring it for Christmas.”

Abby had picked up a plastic dinosaur from a shelf and fell in love. “Dat my T Rex,” she said, cramming it into her coat pocket. Before she became the youngest kid with a misdemeanor on her record, I removed T. Rex from her pocket and put him back.

“NO!” of course she said. “NO! Dat MY dinosaur!”

“No, it’s the store’s. We’re not bringing him home now. We’re getting a present for baby Oliver. What would Oliver like?”

Futile. “Dat MY dinosaur!”

“Maybe Santa Claus will bring it for Christmas.” There. I said it, feeling both proud at my classic mom moment and ashamed I wasn’t more clever with my tantrum-diffusing skills.

Plus, as I uttered this line I had no intention of informing Santa she wanted a T. Rex for Christmas. OK, I coulda just bought the dang thing, but I’d made a point: No dinosaur. Not now. Mom said no.

Look at me, following through just like a good mama.

Well, this Santa line stopped her long enough for a light bulb to go off, reminding her about the Santa facts I’d shared at the parade: Dude brings presents on Christmas Eve while good girls are sleeping. Digs reindeer. Says “ho ho ho.” Did I mention presents? Presents.

I was feeling a mixture of relief at my smoke-and-mirrors trick at the store (and also a little excited about all Santa might be able to help me accomplish this season. Could I use Santa bribes to potty-train? I was considering it. Briefly).

But starting in the car and continuing all the way home, through dinner and breakfast the next morning; all through the next week. Each night before bed, she’d sweetly ask: “Santa goin’ bring me my dinosaur today?”

Oh. About that … So. What are the odds she forgets by Dec. 25?