As I was sitting and wrapping presents this past weekend, my mind got to thinking.
(You notice any time I have a quiet moment to myself that this happens?? I guess I don't get many of these moments....)
I was labeling presents and trying to decide on whom was to be the giver. They couldn't all say "From: Mom" though surely I had purchase most of them, even the ones that I felt were from Dad :-) But there is always that default giver: Santa.
This got me thinking. We have never really put much effort into letting our kids be "into" Santa. We even had them with us when we made many of the purchases, so Lexi definitely knows who bought her stuff, and she keeps asking me to get them out for her. (I know, I know... we won't do that anymore, so no need to think about my stupidity factor. We just happened to find good deals when we had the girls with us. It happens.)
So as I'm labeling these presents, I put who they were really from. Ed has a few things that he already knows about, so those; those can be from Santa. So why am I not so big on Santa? I guess I've always been that way.
Let me take you back, oh, 25 years ago. Imagine a beautiful Christmas in Fort Collins, CO. A young, innocent girl was talking with her two older brothers. The details are a little fuzzy, seeing that this girl was only 2 at the time, but long story short, her brothers told her that Santa was not alive. They didn't just say "He's make believe"... Oh no! That would've been just wrong! No, they said he used to be alive, but that Dad had shot and killed him, right on our roof. But the rest of the world didn't know that. Dad had to dress up and pretend he was Santa so no one would ever find out, and so she was not to tell anyone else the truth: Santa was dead.
This, obviously, happened to me. And boy did I keep that secret! I really can't ever remember making a list for Santa because I always knew that it was Mom and Dad who were going to be buying my presents, so my list just went up on the fridge. My dad used to dress up all the time for friends and family, and he was great. But I always knew it was my dad. I always knew every Santa I saw was fake, since he was either dead, or when I realized that that my brothers had, in fact, LIED to me, that he was just made up.
(Did you know they bought me cute Barbie clothes one year, but instead of just wrapping them like a normal person, they put them at the bottom of a large box and filled it up with rocks? Not my favorite Christmas memory that year either... boys can be so mean sometimes...)
So now you all know.
I never really believed in Santa Claus.
So do I feel bad that I don't encourage my girls to believe in him? Not really. I don't go out of my way to
DISCOURAGE it, but going to the extremes to convince them something is real that isn't, just isn't my thing. We still take pictures with him at the Christmas party. They smile. They get their candy. No harm done.
If a time comes when they are talking with friends and ask me about it, I'll probably tell them the truth (if they haven't figured it out already).
So although he represents all this good stuff, blah blah blah.... We all know the real meaning of Christmas, and it doesn't revolve around a nice old guy giving everyone free gifts. My girls are pretty appreciative of the things they get, and I like hearing them say "Thank You" with sincerity. It's kinda hard to thank a secretive, sneaky old man, isn't it?
If this post makes you sad, I apologize. If you still believed in Santa before reading this post, to that, I also apologize
(and scratch my head). We love the idea of Santa, so don't go thinking we're all grinches here. Everyone has experiences that affect their lives... and mine left me without a belief in Santa. Oh well! :-)