Maybe it’s the first cool breeze in the air (I swear I felt it – in between the humid days and the tropical storms), but I’m already thinking of Christmas. There are only 12 weeks left until Christmas, lest you think I’m getting started too early. Think of it this way – if the Twelve Days of Christmas were all Mondays – we’d only be twelve days out.
This kind of thinking is what’s led my husband to develop some coping mechanisms when it comes to the infectious excitement I share with my sons around the holiday season. I turn into a little kid at Christmastime. Dale can’t even put our Christmas presents out until Christmas Eve, or we’ll be there every day, shaking the boxes and making our guesses about what’s inside.
This year, however, marks a sad end to a family tradition in our house. On Friday, my ten-year-old son Timothy came home in a tizzy. Sitting me down at the kitchen table, he looked me in the eyes and asked me that point-blank question that every parent fears:
“Mama, is Santa Claus real? My friends at school say he isn’t.”
I felt like I’d been run over by a reindeer. What do you say to that? Timothy is the last one in our house who believed in Santa, and we all came together to make the magic happen for him every year. Even Timothy’s older brother, Denver, was in on the fun, nibbling cookies and hiding presents to make it all seem real for Timothy. But I couldn’t lie to my baby when he asked.
I told him the truth. And while we were on the topic, he asked about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too. What I found odd was that Santa’s nonexistence didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as the others! He got tears in his eyes when he leaned across the table, begging to know the truth: “Mom – if the Tooth Fairy isn’t real, what have you been doing with my teeth?!”
In the days that have passed since our heartbreaking conversation, I’ve started to see the bright side of it. No more having to worry about moving the Elf on the Shelf every day and spending my nights setting up Pinterest-worthy dioramas. No more waiting with sore feet in the mall Santa lines, balancing heavy packages so Timothy can tell the fellow in the suit what he wants for Christmas.
And most of all? No more staying up til 3AM every Christmas Eve setting out presents just for Timothy to wake up at 5AM to see what Santa brought!
This year for Christmas, we’ll all sleep in. And isn’t that the greatest gift of all?
Happy Monday,
~Mary
