If Sue is Scrooge this Christmas for not exchanging gifts with the adults in her family (and for the record, I don’t think she is a scrooge–I think she is sensible), then what I am about to say is probably going to make me look like the Grinch. Or something worse, if there is a worse Christmas-related villian out there.
Here’s my Christmas confession: I’m struggling with the idea of Santa Claus. More specifically, I’m struggling with the idea of my son believing in Santa Claus. Should I back away slowly from the computer right now? Forget I even started this post? Nah, because if there is on thing I am (other than possibly a Christmas-related villian), is a woman who says what she is thinking. And what I’m thinking is that this Santa stuff is a real struggle with me.
Well, I’m not sure exactly. I think it’s mostly because I’m lying to my son. I know, I know–“believe” and magic and Christmas spirit and all that. But I still struggle. Trust is big with me. I don’t like when people lie to me, and I don’t like getting lied to.
Right now I’m going with the whole Santa Claus thing. I didn’t really introduce him to the concept–his classmates, mainstream media, and the like were the ones who really talked up the big guy. I just went along. Last year it wasn’t such a big deal to me–O knew what was going on, but didn’t really “get” Santa all that much. This year, we’re going to different outings to check out the big guy, I’m setting up phone calls and video conferences (that video thing is cool–thanks to the girls at Momminitup for cluing me in), and the guilt is creeping up. I’m lying! Santa is not real! (But my O thinks he’s really, really cool. And it makes him happy–hence the struggle!)
My guilt and inner turmoil was racheted up a notch this past Friday when we went to O’s preschool to see Santa. O was afraid to approach Santa, so I let him hang back. But then when Santa was getting ready to leave, O became visibly upset and started shaking because he hadn’t been able to tell Santa that he wanted “a rocket and more Spidermans.” My heart just about broke into two.
It didn’t matter if he told Santa his wish. He didn’t need to get all upset and stressed out about it. He could’ve just told me, because you know, *I* am Santa! (By the by, I did get O up there to stand close to Santa, tell him his wish, and give the big guy a high-five.)
Maybe I’m taking it all too seriously (I do tend to overthink a little), but I wanted to put it out there anyway, and see if I’m the only Santa Grinch out there.
Do you tell your children about Santa? Do they believe? If so, when did they stop believing? Did they take it hard when you broke the news?
For the record, I’m gonna soldier on with the whole charade this year, but I have some serious thinking to do before next Christmas.