Yes, Tyler… there IS a Santa Claus

Two days after Christmas, Tyler and I stopped in Target to exchange
Halle’s cute, pink MP3 player for one that was a little easier to operate. I discovered, after returning the one, the one I wanted to replace it with was out of stock. We went to the nearest Target that showed them in stock, but I had left the receipt in the car, thinking I wouldn’t need it since I’d already done the return at the other store. The item shelved was nothing like what I bought
Tyler, even though the model number on the shelf matched. I sent
Tyler out to the car for the receipt while I waited inside with Daija.

Tonight as I’m doing my quality check of Tyler’s bedroom cleaning efforts,
Tyler says,

Mom, I want to tell you something.  You know when we were in Target and I went to the car to get those receipts for you?

Do you see what’s coming here?

Oh, yes… the dreaded “S” talk.  Not the one about sex… the one about Santa Claus. It was one I was dreading, as one of the most vividly painful experiences of my childhood was learning the truth about Santa Claus.  I was in 5th grade, I believe, the same age Tyler is now.

~We interrupt this program for a flashback~

In 1996 I made peace with Ol’ Saint Nick.  I decided to celebrate the kernel of truth the legend started with – the gift of anonymous giving.  I wouldn’t let it become a materialistic free for all where my child thought every thing from under the tree came from Santa… just  candy and small toys (for example, a Tomagotchi) in the stocking, and one frivolous gift for fun.  I would neither confirm or deny… I would give my child(ren) the power to choose when to take that step from childhood to adulthood.

Over the years I’ve been asked by Tyler, then
Halle, if Santa is real.  When I ask, “What do you think?” they always respond that they think he is real.  Occasionally they’ll relay that a friend or the older sibling of a classmate says Santa is real.  I just say that everyone has to decide for him or herself what they think about Santa. 

Now and then, one of them will ask me if I believe in Santa… and I look them straight in the eye and I say, “Absolutely.”

Well, one of them had two Tomagotchi’s on it.

I see. Well, what did you think about that?

Well, I was pretty upset.

Why were you upset?

Well, because I had really believed in Santa Claus and that meant it was just ruined and he’s not real. At first I thought, “Santa must have left the receipt for my mom,” but then I saw your name on it from your credit card.”

Damn… foiled by technology. I invited
Tyler to sit down on the bed. He, of course, interrupted me several times with random thoughts, but this is the gist of it.

I guess you figured it out. That’s part of growing up. But just because Santa doesn’t exist as the legend you know, doesn’t mean that Santa isn’t real. All legends usually start with a small kernel of truth. Long ago there was a man who gave gifts to children who were very poor. The spirit that moved in him to do those things was real then and it’s still real now. I want you to think about that scene in Polar Express where the boy chooses the bell. Santa Claus tells him that the bell is a wonderful symbol of the spirit of Christmas, and says, “So am I.” What does that mean,and where does Santa Claus say the TRUE spirit of Christmas is?

It means that Santa IS real, because the true spirit of Christmas is in here.

And when you ask me if I believe in Santa, what do I always say?

Absolutely.

Absolutely. That same spirit will still be with me next year… and you’ll still get a stocking and a Santa gift… this just means that I’ll have a Christmas elf.

I told
Tyler how proud I was of him for handling it so maturely, and talking to me about it privately instead of saying anything to his sisters.

Yeah, well… I still want
Halle to believe.

Tyler, that is Santa Claus right there. You’re giving her a gift by keeping the magic alive for her.

Tyler and I were both feeling pretty pleased with ourselves… but
Tyler did have some sage advice to offer me before I left his room.

But Mom… next year, don’t send
Halle to the car to get a receipt right after Christmas.
Here’s an article I recently enjoyed… seemed appropriate to share.

THE GIFT OF BELIEF: Santa is real when your deeds make him real

“Sniveling”

I was watching Bill Cosby As Himself last night… and while I used to laugh REALLY hard at the part about the children having brain damage, I don’t find that nearly so funny anymore.  Seeing as Tyler’s only answer for damn near everything I ask him is “idunno” it probably hits a little too close to home to be anything other than mildly amusing.  But the part about how Dad doesn’t know where anything is and he’s always asking, “Where’s your mother?” that had me laughing so hard, that I was shaking trying to hold it in because Ro, who is on Round 2 of the Sinus Infection from Hell, was asleep. When Bill started describing how his wife forced him out of bed one morning to cook breakfast (which reminded me of when I was getting ready for that Christmas party and he asked what the kids were going to eat) and Bill gave them chocolate cake (Ro has given Daija mini marshmallows for breakfast, because she asked for them). Alas, I shook him awake.

I found myself with my head down on the kitchen table, shaking with laughter and trying not to pee myself a little while ago.

Background:  I’ve been saying, “Quit that damn sniveling” an awful lot since I’ve been on vacation.

I instructed the younger girl-child to go wash her face (the kids had ice cream for dessert).

She inquired, “In Daddy’s bafroom or my bafroom?”

I responded, “Go to your bathroom.”

“Awwww!  I wanted to go in YOUR bafroom, Momma.  I don’t want to go to my bafroom.”

And she crosses her arms and walks petulantly towards her bathroom, as she repeats the following litany,

“Sniveling, sniveling… sniveling, sniveling, sniveling… sniveling… sniveling…”

There’s Something About Mary

Considering that it’s Christmas Eve, my blog title might have you thinking this post about Mary of Nazareth.

But it’s not.

Per Latonya’s request in Conversations with the Boy, this is about Mary of Mrs. Homeroom’s 5th grade class.

A few weeks ago, Halle’s friend, Kameryn, was at our house for a sleepover. Kameryn is in 4th grade, and just turned 9 in October. She and Tyler were chasing each other all over the house and it almost seemed flirtatious to me.

So a little later that night while the girls were playing Barbie’s, I caught Tyler alone and asked him if he was old enough to like girls yet.

He almost blushed and told me that was personal information.

I reminded him that I was his mama.

So he confessed, not to liking Kameryn, but that he kinda likes a girl in his classed named Mary.

I asked what she looked like.

Now, I guess I assumed that at such a young age, boys liked girls based on appearance. Hell, I know grown men who are still chasing after girls based on appearance… and grown women who do the same.

Tyler started to say, “Well, she…”

and tapered off.

He started again, and stopped.

“I don’t really know how to describe her. But we have a lot in common… we both like math…” etc. etc. etc.

I was impressed with my boy, that he likes a girl based on what’s in her cabeza, not what’s filling out her top or behind.

Last week I went and helped out at the class party, and as I was making like the one hundred millionth hot chocolate, and an occasional hot cider, I asked one of the girls, “You wanted cider, right honey?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A few minutes later, I heard someone call her Mary.

I confirmed with Tyler… yes, she’s THAT Mary we talked about… but BE QUIET, Mom!

Oh, yes… I was impressed with my boy. Her Accellerated Math score is higher than Tyler’s… so not only is he not attracted to her because of her looks, he’s not intimidated by her brains either. She’s smart and polite… and for the record, pleasant looking, too. Taller than Tyler (but who isn’t) and slender, with thick light brown hair that’s kinda straight.