“Mom, is Santa real?”
Crap. Think. Think. No, don’t look up! Think faster. Okay, look up but don’t look at him. Starting to sweat now. Who’s he been talking to? C’mon mommy brain, work it!
“Phssh…of course he is. You know that.”
“It’s not just you and dad then?”
“Nope.”
“Pinky promise?”
Crap again. The pinky promise? He means business. It’s not binding if you don’t actually involve the pinkies I think.
“Pinky promise. Hey I’ve got your clothes folded on your bed, can you go put them away and bring me your homework to check?”
Dodged that bullet. So I thought.
I don’t remember when I started questioning the existence of Santa Claus. I don’t remember ever getting any straight up “The Truth Behind Santa” kind of talk either. I think just one Christmas it all clicked and I understood who was filling up my stocking when I had finally fallen asleep on Christmas Eve. I do remember feeling a little less excited to go downstairs and see what had appeared over night and a part of me wished I never knew who actually left it.
As a parent I didn’t expect to run into this question for a couple more years so it caught me unprepared. After my phony pinky promising I felt guilty. I take my pinky promises pretty seriously and flat out telling Porter that Olen and I have nothing to do with Santa was really bugging me. Plus I’ve always hated that Santa gets all the glory Christmas morning when it was really me who had to nibble those carrots left for the reindeer. Have you ever eaten carrots at one in the morning? It deserves a little glory I think. In the end I decided if making the magic of Santa last one more year meant telling a little white lie I would let it slide, unless Porter asked again. Of course he asked again.
“So for reals, you and dad aren’t the Santa?”
This time it was more of a statement than a question. I could tell my half-hearted pinky promise hadn’t convinced him either. Breathe. Think. Breathe. Here we go.
“Do you want to believe in Santa Claus, sugar?”
“Well yeah.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. If you believe in him, he will always come. He will always be real.”
“Oh...okay.”
One more thing.
“Hey Porter, wait come back.”
“Yeah?”
“I still believe in Santa, too.”
“Thanks mom.”
“You’re welcome.”
Crap. Think. Think. No, don’t look up! Think faster. Okay, look up but don’t look at him. Starting to sweat now. Who’s he been talking to? C’mon mommy brain, work it!
“Phssh…of course he is. You know that.”
“It’s not just you and dad then?”
“Nope.”
“Pinky promise?”
Crap again. The pinky promise? He means business. It’s not binding if you don’t actually involve the pinkies I think.
“Pinky promise. Hey I’ve got your clothes folded on your bed, can you go put them away and bring me your homework to check?”
Dodged that bullet. So I thought.
I don’t remember when I started questioning the existence of Santa Claus. I don’t remember ever getting any straight up “The Truth Behind Santa” kind of talk either. I think just one Christmas it all clicked and I understood who was filling up my stocking when I had finally fallen asleep on Christmas Eve. I do remember feeling a little less excited to go downstairs and see what had appeared over night and a part of me wished I never knew who actually left it.
As a parent I didn’t expect to run into this question for a couple more years so it caught me unprepared. After my phony pinky promising I felt guilty. I take my pinky promises pretty seriously and flat out telling Porter that Olen and I have nothing to do with Santa was really bugging me. Plus I’ve always hated that Santa gets all the glory Christmas morning when it was really me who had to nibble those carrots left for the reindeer. Have you ever eaten carrots at one in the morning? It deserves a little glory I think. In the end I decided if making the magic of Santa last one more year meant telling a little white lie I would let it slide, unless Porter asked again. Of course he asked again.
“So for reals, you and dad aren’t the Santa?”
This time it was more of a statement than a question. I could tell my half-hearted pinky promise hadn’t convinced him either. Breathe. Think. Breathe. Here we go.
“Do you want to believe in Santa Claus, sugar?”
“Well yeah.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. If you believe in him, he will always come. He will always be real.”
“Oh...okay.”
One more thing.
“Hey Porter, wait come back.”
“Yeah?”
“I still believe in Santa, too.”
“Thanks mom.”
“You’re welcome.”
In that moment, I felt a little glorious.
Oh what a good answer! I will have to keep that in mind as I am afraid I might get that soon too.
ReplyDeleteI am so ashamed of my parenting this year where Santa is concerned. Oh the lies and shame.
ReplyDeleteMy oldest is 12 and either one heck of an actress or she does still truly believe. But your answer is the best one there is. I have used it myself. It's a choice. Believe it or don't. It's up to you. I choose to believe. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
ReplyDeleteI was 10 when my mom had the santa talk. I wasn't sad that santa wasn't real, just really confused and upset that I had been deceived by my parents for so long.
ReplyDeleteDang I look good.
ReplyDeleteAh, that was very sweet. Great answer.
ReplyDeleteI love your answer. I remember my older brother telling me that Santa was not real when I was 5. BIG bummer. So when I became a mother, I decided that Santa is real and I would tell my children that he is real... because he is. He is the holiday spirit, what brings people together in celebration of family and giving to others. Once I decided that he was real and changed my focus from who filled the stockings to the way we feel, Christmas became magical again. :) Happy Christmas.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I read about all of these people that are now adults that felt really betrayed that their parents lied to them, but I never felt that way myself. I don't remember how my Mom explained it to me, but this is a wonderful way to do it. Thanks for the heads up before we get there! :)
ReplyDeleteI've given the same answer to my 8 year old. I've never flat out said yes or no, just that it only matters what he thinks. We've also tried to not have so much focus on the big guy either. He's great and all, but its Jesus's birthday! :)
ReplyDelete