"Santa comes down the chimney?"

"That's what they say."

"So, how does he go up?"

"Well, he lays a finger aside his nose," I say, demonstrating, "and he goes up."

"He has to climb back up the chimney."

"No. He puts his finger by his nose and just goes up."

This is met with a look that's part confusion, part my-mother-has-lost-her-mind.

"Santa's magic."

A pause.

"So," like she's caught the flaw in my logic and is about to pounce like a 3.5 year old trial lawyer, "how does he get down off the roof?" Ha! I've got you now! Just try to get out of that one!

"He doesn't. Remember how Santa has raindeer? The raindeer and the sleigh are waiting for him on the roof."

She's had enough of trying to figure this out. Logic be hanged, she's going back to a magical view of the world.

"So, what does he say to the raindeer?"

"On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen, on Donner... I forget all their names."

"Oh, can we do projects now? Like cutting and folding and, and, and coloring!"

Yep, time to go back to the things that make sense. She's right though; when you explain it that way, the whole Santa thing is laughable, really. Odd, that in a culture that seems to see everything in light of either hard science or divine miracle, we still hang on to (and encourage!) the Santa story.