by
Amber M. Dubois
I love Christmas, don't you? I love the lights and the presents and the sweet look of greedy anticipation on my daughter's face. Christmas is just about my favorite holiday, right after Halloween and my birthday. I love every little thing about it--well, ALMOST every little thing. This will seem mean to some, but I don't like Santa Claus.
I like the idea of Santa--the giving without getting, the "be good or else!" aspect that we parents get to wield heavy-handedly, the tradition and the innocence of children who believe. I love Santa in the movies and on TV, and I love how excited Peyton gets when she sees Santa. I can't wait to see Charlotte get just as excited.
But, dang that Santa, he gets all the credit! I spend all year shopping for these presents that I KNOW these kids are going to adore, and in the end, I have to sign them all "From Santa". The bike Peyt got last year--Santa got the credit. Charlotte's first stocking...Santa. The cookies and carrots I had to eat (we leave carrots for Rudolph. Hey, the reindeer do all the work!), all Santa.
I long for the days when my daughter, all aglow with joy, looks at me and says those words we all want to hear, us Moms:
"Thank you, Mom! I love it! You shouldn't have!"
Alas, that is not to happen this year. This year, we're all about Santa. We're all about asking questions about how Santa can get all over the world in one night (he suspends time) and how he can fit all the presents in one sleigh (he can't. He has sleighs all over the world.) and how they can make all the toys the same as the ones that are in the store without getting sued (there's a law that gives Santa immunity from prosecution), and why the elves don't just shop for presents the way Mommy and Daddy do (it's because of the intrinsic reward of a gift hand-crafted, which Mommy and Daddy don't need because we have real jobs). This year we're worried about Santa's heart and wondering if he might need to shave a few pounds off to prevent heart disease and if we maybe shouldn't leave Santa an orange or some Cheerios, or better yet, just a nice, big glass of water. We are worried about the stress Santa must be under, what with the demands of all the children, and we want to know if Santa offers a benefits package including health insurance for all of his elves, and do they get workman's comp if they get hurt on the job?
Being five seems a lot more complicated than I remember it being.
For example, I don't remember my presents from Santa having special wrapping paper that was different than the other gifts under the tree. But, Peyton's will. Why? Because last year she happened to put two and two together and figured out that all of the presents had the wrapping paper she'd seen in our house. Whoops. So, this year, I not only have to hide the presents, I have to hide the bloomin' paper, too! Not just paper--tags, ribbon, you name it--it all has to be hidden.
I'm pretty sure if I asked my Mom about the wrapping paper on my presents from Santa as a kid, she'd laugh at me. My Mom worked two jobs--she wasn't up for all this nonsense about special Santa wrapping paper.
At this point, all I'm left with is the hope that she's one of thsoe kids who precociously stops believing in Santa Claus. I don't even know the average age when kids stop believing, but I'm not going to be the one to tell her the truth. For all the whining I do about wanting the credit for the gifts, I know someday that will come. Someday no answer I give will convince my girls that Santa is real anymore. They will stop believing, and a little piece of Christmas magic will be gone forever.
