As most of you know, the mall Santas are not the real Santa Claus. Rather, they are Santa's coalition of holly-jolly helpers. (Don't let the "coal" in "coalition" scare you — unless you've been naughty.) Sure, sure, the real Santa might pop up occasionally in your local library, but it's comparable to Bon Jovi unpacking his guitar in your local Barnes & Noble — faint-worthy and fantastical but not something you can hang your candy cane on.

This year, we have seen all the Santa helpers. I mean all. Every Santa within a 20-mile radius has had his lap plopped on by my 4-year-old and has been cried on by my 13-month-old. So commonplace has the mall Santa/park Santa/zoo Santa/festival Santa become in our family outings that he's lost his luster.

Haven't we waited in enough lines? Taken enough pictures? Can't we do anything else?

Dragging my son to and fro holiday events has become such a chore that I run a very real risk of ruining for him the magic of the true Santa. My chronic quest for Claus has ensnared the sugarplum fairies that once danced in my child's head and replaced them with something more akin to the clown from "It" working on long division — kinda scary and horrifically boring.

I should stop. I need to stop. There's really no excuse not to stop.

Except one. I have no idea what my kid wants for Christmas.

I mean, I do. He says what he wants. To every single Santa, my son asks for the same thing: a scary head.

What? Is? That?

I make a circle motion with my hand to the Santas, pleading for them to probe further. And most do.

"What kind of scary head, little boy?"

In his best Dracula voice, my son repeats, "A scary head."

"Right. Well, the elves have many different kinds of scary heads in my workshop. What kind do you want?"

My son deepens his voice and holds out his hand before him as if singing an operetta: "A scary hea-a-a-a-d."

It's at this point most Santas kick my son off their lap. "OK, kid, have a candy cane." And my child, happy to know his most dearest request will be adequately reported to the man up north, hops over to me and says, "I'm tired. Can we go now?"

Oh, little one, not on your life. Perhaps if you specified what the heck a scary head is, but seeing as you haven't, there is another Santa at the library a half-mile down the road. Let's get walking.

My child drags his feet, the candy cane providing a little source of energy as his Christmas cheer diminishes. I see the magic dwindle from his face as I ferociously Google "scary head." Nothing comes up.

"Let's play 20 questions," I say. "Is your scary head a skull?"

"No"

"A mask?"

"No."

"From Halloween?"

"No."

"Does anyone at school have it?"

"No."

"Is it a toy? An animal? Is it me?"

"No. Mama, I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Can you stop talking?"

I go back to scouring the internet.

I know, I know. I should have faith that the mall Santas will do their job and get word to jolly old St. Nick. But look, true-blue (er, red) Santa is a super-busy man. He's got lots of kids on that list and lots of toys in his shop. He doesn't have time to figure out the specifics while checking that "nice" list twice. And though the rumor on the street is that you can bend Santa's ear if you leave especially good cookies by the fireplace, I know that my baking skills are not up to snuff. This year's gingerbread men look more like bowling pins. What if Santa gets confused and leaves a stuffed reindeer head to mount on my wall? Though that certainly would be a scary head, the right gift is required to cement the magic of the season in what is his first year of really understanding the wonder and awe of Santa Claus.

As I was dragging my child past a fabric store en route to visiting a grocery Santa, he pulled back and announced, "A scary hea-a-a-a-a-d." I looked and saw a foam head used as a hat stand.

"That? That's what you want more than anything?"

My son nodded gleefully.

"OK. Let's go tell Santa's helper."

I'm sure Big Red got the message.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.