Secret Santa

I wrote this a couple of years ago but never really shared it with my peeps...thought tonight might be a good time:)

Laying in bed on Christmas Eve, I ran over my “to do” list, checking it once, checking it twice, before finally surrendering to my pillow. I’d crept around the house in the darkness for two hours before finally getting in to bed. I’d feigned sleep the first time I lay down, to get the kids to go to sleep, so I could go back downstairs and play Santa

The gifts, that until today, had been stashed away at friend’s houses and in the attic were now prettily arranged under the tree, the stockings stuffed full with miniature offerings, carved & created in “Santa’s workshop”, were hanging from the mantle. The milk & cookies the kids left out for Santa appeared to have been suitably consumed as were the carrots for the reindeer. Checking over my shoulder and holding my breath to listen for the kids stirring I’d hastily written a little “Thank you” in Santa’s handwriting as I have done every year for the last fifteen years and finally crept back to bed.

Oh the magic of Santa. I remember the feeling I used to get every Christmas Eve as a child when I went to sleep. The wonder of knowing that in the morning there’d be a pillowcase full of toys for me at the end of my bed. Would I hear Santa’s sleigh? The Jingle Bells? I’d be in and out of bed all night searching the sky desperately looking for movement, imagining Santa & the Reindeer flying through the sky and somehow down our non-existent chimney to deliver our gifts. For the last fifteen years and for the most part of my adult life, I’ve been lucky enough to live Christmas through my children. I watch them will themselves excitedly to sleep every Christmas Eve and feel their tingling excitement every Christmas morning.

This year was different though. Now eleven, my daughter, who has clung desperately to her belief of Santa, started to ask questions. She wanted to know if he was real... but didn’t really want to know if he wasn’t. She even wrote him a letter asking for proof, requesting certain items for her stocking; items made at the North Pole and not made in China. (Last year I put a miniature Nutcracker in her stocking “From Santa” but omitted to remove the “Made in China” sticker from the base). I was unsure how to handle the questions and her desperate need for proof, but after much consultation with family and friends, I decided I was in, that I’d buy into my daughters need and help her hold on to the magic of Santa for another year.

I drifted off to sleep thankful that I hadn’t actually been asked out right about the Santa truth, and then there it was, I saw a shadow at the end of my bed. “Mum,” said the shadow, it was my eleven year old child woman, “Can I talk to you?” I lifted the covers and she snuggled in the bed beside me. “What’s up?” I asked tentatively.

Her earnest little face looked up at me in the darkness, her breath warm on my face, “I’m afraid to not believe” she said with a wobbly chin. “I’m afraid to be a grown up and forget the feeling I get on Christmas Eve”.

Not quite an outright “Is he real or not?” but still needy of explanation. Please understand that I have had no problem explaining the facts of life to my children, no subject is taboo in our home, but this one stumped me. To believe or not to believe? To shatter the dream or fuel it? I desperately searched the depths of my over-shopped sleepy mind for an answer. Did I believe? Do I? Do I still need my little one to believe and allow us all to share in the magic of Santa? Heck, yes!

“Baby...I think we should all believe. But let’s be clear on what we believe in. It’s not the gifts, or the reindeer, or the Jingle Bells, but the spirit of Santa and all the good will he brings in to our lives each year”

I guess that was enough of an explanation as she gave me a sleepy little smile and promptly closed her eyes. She gratefully accepted Santa’s offerings the next day, without so much as a sideways glance at me. I’m just glad we’ve got another Christmas with Santa, or at least his spirit, in our home next year.

So very thankful that we all still believe...Merry Christmas!