I always have mixed emotions around Christmas. On one hand, I am giddy. Some days I feel like I'm ten years old again...I anticipate the giving and receiving of gifts, the Hallmark moments with loved ones, and the food, ah the glorious food, that everyone (but me) is so good at preparing. On the other hand, I don't always feel the love. The Hallmark moments can turn in to "All in the Family" moments in a flash; the gifts bring refrains of "what WAS she thinking?" and the food, well, we all know what happens because of the food.
The one constant for the past eight years has been the wonder and the glory of the big man himself. While maybe I should be talking about Jesus, I'm not. I'm talking about Santa Claus.
Santa Claus has changed my husband's and my life. Pre-2000 Christmases were, of course, B.S. (Before Santa). The two of us went through the motions, but the pained look on my husband's face as we visited family always told me that he was coping and little else. B.S. Christmases were, well, B.S.
Then came Emily. On her first Christmas (she was nine months old), we bought her a Red Rider wagon and sat on the couch drinking coffee and wishing her awake. When she finally woke up, we showered her with gifts and, like every other nine month old, she played with the paper and boxes. But it was the beginning of the magic.
Fast forward through another baby (poor Matt, he always gets the short version of the story) and 8 years into the future. This past Christmas, Emily was eight years and 9 months old, and Ryan and I dared to speak the fear that was in our hearts... Will this be THE year?
We waited for the inevitable. We were poised with the words, "Don't ruin it for your brother!" As Christmas approached, I thought maybe we were losing her. She wouldn't sit on Santa's lap. She wouldn't write a letter to northpole.com. (Santa's high-tech, right?) And then, four days before Christmas, we received a call.
Our savior (in the form of our fabulous, second-to-none, small-town mailman) called and offered to visit our house dressed as Santa. He just happened to show up the Sunday before Christmas while both sides of the family were visiting. Even though he drove up in his Ford Taurus, Em bought it, chips, dip and all. She had that look of wonder on her face that made me feel all fuzzy. He brought them a gift, sat and talked for a while, then went on his way. It was probably the best moment of my 2007.
And so Christmas 2007 was saved. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care.... Santa showed up, ate the cookies, fed the carrots to his reindeer, and left the presents, just like we knew he would. The kids woke up bright and early to find everything they ever wanted (or as Matt likes to say "just what I ever wanted") waiting for them. It was glorious.
The grey cloud above all of this, I'm sure you realize, is Christmas 2008 or ...the inevitable. How long will the magic last? And without it, will Christmas go back to being just B.S.? Maybe it will be P.S...post Santa, like an afterthought in the memory that will be our kids' childhood. Whatever it is, or whenever it is, I'd like to put it off as long as I possibly can.
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