Christmas on 34th Street got put to shame by the miracle I experienced yesterday. Yesterday had what usually would have been all the makings of a really tough day: Waking up late, getting the kids into their church clothes, driving an hour to Stake Conference, Stake Conference itself (when you have little kids), driving an hour home…you know how it is. But yesterday was wonderful. We went to Stake Conference, took naps!, made cookies, cut out and colored ornaments, watched A Christmas story and went on a drive–all without a single fit or fight. (Well, actually, Jane threw a major fit when it was finally time to go to bed, but one major fit is still really good for her :)) Can you believe that ? I know. Neither can I! I seriously don’t know if that has ever happened before. A true Christmas miracle.
Today? Well, let’s just say that it’s days like today that make days like yesterday really, really special. *Sigh*
Hey! Does anybody else encourage their kids to believe in Santa? I actually do not have any memories of ever having believed in Santa, myself. As far as I can remember, my parents never hid the fact that they were the ones putting the presents under the tree. And we were all cool with that. As long as there were presents, we didn’t care who the heck was putting them there. I know. It’s horrible. But anyway, as I’ve had kids, I’ve been excited to go along with the Santa theory until my kids figure it out on their own. This year, though, I’ve become a bit paranoid about it. Over the years, I’ve talked to a number of other parents who don’t feel good about encouraging their kids to believe in Santa for one reason or another. Some have expressed their concern about emphasizing the materialistic side of Christmas; others have worried that if they lie to their kids about Santa, their kids will never trust anything else they’ve (the parents) taught once they (the kids) learn the truth. Yikes. So anyway….as Camp has begun to ask more and more questions about the technicalities of the whole Santa story, I’ve started to get a little worried about what will happen when the truth comes out. Will it be as bad as when my mom pulled me aside when I was eight to tell me about it which cannot be named (for fear of pervert psychos doing web searches and having my blog come up)?
You see, when I was at the tender age of just eight, my sister apparently reported to my mom that she had been hearing me sing along to Madonna’s Like a Virgin. And apparently this led to my mom to deciding that the time was right for me to be let in on the big secret. If only she had been right. I likely would not have been ready for a good many more years. But anyway, she took me into her room and sat with me on her bed and revealed to me just how everything works. And in an attempt to make clear to me that IT was not a bad thing, but rather something that was sacred and special between a husband and wife, she told me that she liked it. Well, man, I tell ya. That was the straw that broke my back. I was horrified. In fact, I yelled, “You’re worse than the devil,” and went crying out of her room. I was seriously traumatized. But I don’t fault my mom. In fact, I’m really grateful that I have a mom who made it a point to tell me about the facts of life herself, instead of having one of the kids on the playground do it. I just wish I had been a little more ready to hear it. I wonder, though–if my mom hadn’t been willing to be open and honest with me, would I have always been as open and honest with her as I’ve always felt comfortable enough to be? I’m not sure.
O.K. This is the thing: Are Camp and Jane and Danin and the little chi chi going to totally freak out when they figure out the truth about Santa? Are they going to forever mistrust me? Are they going question whether I am being truthful about all the important stuff? I need to know how any of you reacted when you found out the truth about Santa. Someone reassure me, please!