I’m thinking the day before Christmas no one is going to be reading this but…it’s Sunday and my little rule for myself is to have my weekly blog done by Sunday night.
Since no one will be reading this but me and you, whoever you are, I can get comfy and talk freely, eh?
Beni is getting his canines in RIGHT NOW and I’m ready to invent a Prozac/Valium cocktail that will get me through the holidays.
I can’t even be ‘in the moment’. It’s too painful/annoying. Can’t I just project myself mentally to a nice sunny beach somewhere with some tropical drink that tastes like antifreeze and pineapples but you don’t care because it’s VACATION and you’re alone and peaceful and happy? I’m in survival mode right now. I’m in Hawaii as I write this. In my head. It’s so nice here. So much quieter than my real life.
I’m home in Canada for the holidays and once again straddling the line between trying to ensure Ellie sort of believes in the magic of Santa but also not making a big deal out of it, and trying not to outright lie to her.
There will be two camps on this. One who says GIVE IT UP, IT’S HARMLESS FUN! You’re a dweeb. It’s Santa.
And one who says…why are we telling our children a magical being watches them all year and then decides if they should get gifts or not? Like all wonderful traditions that make us feel warm and cozy, it has a cold side. There are children who do not get gifts at Christmas. Or who are in broken homes where Santa visits one home with loads of gifts, and was only able to leave highlighters and chewing gum at another. It’s a wonderful story if your life is blessed with a good income and a stable home. If you’re not, it’s a harsh shove from childhood.
Except it’s just me and you reading this so…there’s just my camp (it doesn’t feel right to lie to her) and you.
Anyway, I told her Santa was coming and she was like…”…to THIS house? Tonight?”
I forgot. He’s a dude. She does not like dudes. Even ones bringing presents. So I told her she wouldn’t need to meet him at all and he would only come quickly to drop off some presents and leave again while she slept. So, when my three year old asked directly about Santa…I lied. So much for all my well intentioned high-ideals about truth and the integrity of our relationship.
Didn’t see THAT coming did you? Yeah, me neither. I guess when it comes right down to it, I don’t want to be the one to have that kid. The sullen, cranky one who doesn’t believe in magic or fairytales or happy endings or true love or all the goopy, awesome stuff that makes my little world go ‘round.
Well, I better go eat those cookies we set out for Santa. And put the presents down that ‘he’ brought her. And be all moody and conflicted when she asks me anything directly. Then feel guilty about the moodiness AND the lying and go eat another round of chocolate balls and apple pie with ice cream. Mmmmmm eating my feelings is delicious AND fun.
Oh, and have a Merry Christmas, eh!?