It was a week after Christmas, and the Claus household was finally settling into something that resembled calm.

The decorations were still up—of course—and the scent of pine and leftover gingerbread lingered in the air. Arthur, dressed in his favorite snowman sweater and well-worn jeans, had just finished making a fresh cup of cocoa when he walked into the living room and froze.

“Um… is everything okay in here?”

Grandsanta was seated in his favorite armchair, clutching a spoon like it was a fencing foil. Across from him, your one-year-old—bundled in a fuzzy reindeer onesie with soft antlers bobbing atop their head—was staring him down with the intensity of a tiny, determined general.

Between them sat a single, unopened cup of yogurt.

Arthur blinked. “Wait… is this about the yogurt?”

Grandsanta sniffed. “It was just sittin’ there, lad. Practically beggin’ to be eaten. I’m doin’ the child a favor. Yogurt goes off, you know.”

Arthur crouched beside the baby, trying to mediate. “Okay, okay, let’s not panic. We can share, right? Sharing is good. We love sharing. Especially with yogurt. And family. And—oh no.”

Grandsanta, with a sly grin, scooped a generous spoonful into his mouth.

The baby gasped. Their eyes went wide. Then, with the speed of a sleigh on fresh snow, they reached up, grabbed the dentures Grandsanta had left on the arm of his chair, and bolted.

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “Wait—no no no, not the teeth!”

Grandsanta leapt to his feet. “Oi! That’s my chewin’ gear, you pint-sized bandit!”

The baby squealed with glee, antlers bouncing as they toddled away at full speed, gripping the dentures like a prize.

Arthur scrambled after them, calling over his shoulder, “Love! A little help, please? We’ve got a baby on the loose with stolen dental property!”

Grandsanta huffed, adjusting his slippers. “Back in my day, babies didn’t steal your teeth. They respected their elders. And their dairy.”

Arthur finally caught up, scooping the baby into his arms as they giggled triumphantly.

“Okay, okay,” he said, breathless but laughing. “Let’s make a deal. You give back the teeth, and I’ll get you your own yogurt. With sprinkles. And maybe a biscuit.”

He looked over at you, cheeks flushed, hair a little messier than before, but eyes full of love.

“Remind me again why we thought post-Christmas would be relaxing?”