With the Big Kids hitting nine and seven this year I was worried about the belief in the Big Guy.
They hear things. Things they can understand now because they speak French. And they wonder about the logistics, practicalities like a big man fitting through a chimney and whether or not that's a good thing. But mostly, they fight against not believing. Ma Fille wants answers and by this I mean she wants them from Santa himself. Tonight she's written a note to him asking his favorite color, if they can maybe have hot chocolate together before New Year's and again for his signature. The Tooth Fairy went through a similar line of questioning. I think she wants to believe so much that she just does. And this is the magic of Christmas.
I wrote the following post two years ago in Ireland and posted it last year too. And I will keep sharing it as long as the bubble of magic remains intact. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas Eve and Morning full of joy and love.
And shiny, bubbly Santa dreams.....
Originally posted December 2009
This year was the biggest year for Santa in our house. It is as if the 7
almost 8 year old believes even more fervently than ever before in
order to keep it true. Of course the kids talk in the yard. They ask
questions, wondering: how could a bike really fit through the chimney….and how does the alarm not go off when Santa creeps in….and why does my guitar say, 'made in China'?
To all of these questions we answer, it's magic. And Santa has elves in
China. I was kicking myself for not taking off that little gold sticker!
The magic part is real to me. Only if you believe will Santa come to
see you. I even believe in him when I am sneaking upstairs holding my
breath, to retrieve the hidden crocodile in my closet. It is Santa's
magic that keeps them asleep, keeps them from hearing the Elmo cry out, "Elmo needs a hug!" and muffles the deafening sound of that horrible thick plastic they like to ensconce toys in these days.
So, they believe because we believe and none of us want this beautiful bubble of childhood to burst.
At the park on the Sunday then, you can imagine my horror as a woman we
were talking to wielded a sharp bubble bursting pin. She didn't mean to,
but her comments made me want to grab Ma Fille by the arm and start
running, singing la,la,la,la,laaaaa at the top of my lungs to
distract her. Of course that would have been silly so instead I screwed
up my eyes at the lady then opened them wide, then gave her a creepy
smile and a subtle jerk of the head in my innocent daughter's direction.
The whole thing was simply a misunderstanding. The lady in question is
from Slovakia and what I didn't know but found out on Sunday, is that in
Slovakia they believe that Jesus himself delivers the toys to children
on Christmas Eve. She was telling us this interesting bit of
anthropological trivia, never thinking that it could call into question
our Santa belief. After my bizarre motioning and grimacing she realized
and started backtracking.
"Different places believe different things but Santa still brings our
Christmas presents." And that was that--bubble intact, floating along
iridescent and pure—for at least another year.