1. It was the year Santa was "outed"
2. It was the first year I can remember, in my 25 years in Dallas, that we had snow in Dallas on Christmas Day
Somewhere last night, long about 10:30pm, when I was starting to wilt and little eyes hadn't completely shut for the evening, I unpacked a large box containing one of the "big" Santa gifts. I deposited that box amongst several others, at the foot of our bed, figuring I would break them down for the recycle bin in the morning.
What I didn't factor into the equation is that the boys would be woken by an after midnight thunderstorm and toss and turn until they popped out of bed at 3:40a.m.; they proceeded to wake me and Mike up and, for some stupid reason, we decided it was the better part of valor to actually acquiese. A return to bed about 25 minutes later meant about four more hours sleep and a completely blurry morning, including amnesia about the box.
And when The Babe returned to our room to watch the Disney Parade in bed with us, he eventually made his way to the edge of the mountain of boxes and observed that the scooter brother was riding around the house* was from a box that came from the pile. That's when he declared "WHY IS THAT BOX IN YOUR ROOM IF SANTA BROUGHT IT?!"
My mindset has always been to keep my kids in la-la land regarding the truth behind Santa until I was good and ready for them to know the truth. I've been known to answer questions about Santa with "What do you think?" and weigh the answer with a "HMMMM" and a "I understand that you will always receive gifts from Santa as long as you believe." Generally, that has bought me little backtalk and even less resistance and a knowing smile, as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Since this was my last "unaware" child, and he had caught me red-handed, and I already managed to get eight pictures of him, ignorant, on Santa's lap, I asked him if he REALLY wanted to know. He simply shook his head "yes".
So, I started with the real history of the real Saint Nick, explaining that there was a generous person, back in the day, who took pity on those less fortunate than him. A man, I continued, who we should all try to imitate, whose memory and legacy is worth repeating.
I fast forwarded to the fact that reindeer really DO live at the North Pole and that, in 1822 when a little poem named "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" was penned, that reindeers and sleighs became magical.
And then I dropped the bomb, asking who HE thought Santa Claus was. He pointed at me, smiling, and I shook my head in confirmation. His eyes kind of lit up and he said "That's what I thought!", almost proud of the fact that he had connected the dots and figured out the mystery.
The next few minutes were kind of a blur because I realized that my days of hoofing it to NorthPark for the sole purpose of standing in a much-too-long-line for much-too-much-time in the late December crowds were probably over. I fast forwarded to the next time I could reasonably expect to have a little body in the family who was excited for Santa to come and thought about how long it would be before I'd be a Grandmother.
And I told The Babe, through tear-filled eyes, that I still believe in Santa, because Santa is all about giving from the heart to people, especially people you love. That, for me, there is no better feeling than the look on some one's face when I hit the mark and made their year complete with what I gave just to them. That, to me, is the spirit of Santa.
And, like a gift from above, the snow arrived after that. It reminded me that I might not have Santa in years to come, but there will always be the chance of the unexpected. It served to move me on to the next thing and to realize that the wonder of Christmas will always be with us, Santa or no.
The real reason for celebrating Christmas lies behind all this. Strip away all the extras and it is a simple manger and the biggest offering ever made to mankind. Take away the magical poem and the historical meaning of St. Nick and the beautiful snow and it comes back to the Christ child, quite possibly the most unexpected gift of all.
Later in the day, Babe returned to me and said "You know, Mom. Santa will never die because Moms and Dads will always be around." True that fact buddy. True that. Even when they are at home in Heaven, they never truly leave us.
Thanks to God for orchestrating one of the best Christmas Days in recent memory.
*Yes, I'm that kind of Mother when the weather isn't pleasant and this is your 'big' gift.
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