Crisis at Christmas

There is a pall hanging over the house because of the Christmas season.  Something is amiss here in our little hamlet I call home, and the dread attacks me every wacky waking moment.  The Boy seems unperturbed and LW doesn’t seem to notice it, but to me, it is a very real crisis of faith.

I do not know if The Boy believes in Santa or not.

This is not a subject which is easy to broach.  One can’t exactly ask The Boy, “Do you still believe that there is a fat German man who puts gifts under the pagan symbol for the solstice in a three month removed celebration of the birth of the Christian saviour which has now become an orgy of consumerism?”  Or if one can, I am not the one who can.

We’re not very religious.  I try to give The Boy a basic foundation of religion, focusing on the overarching themes of the Abrahamic religions (Don’t be a jerk to each other).  I also touch a little on some on the Eastern Religions and their overarching themes.  (Don’t be a jerk to each other).  So the religion of Christmas is not a priority.

Instead, we have focused on the joy of the season, the giving and yes, the getting.  But due to The Boy’s distaste for writing, for the past two years, he has not written a letter to Santa for a couple of years now.  The other day, shopping for a friend’s birthday, I had asked him how Santa would know what to bring him.  He smiled impishly and said “I’m pretty sure he can hear me,”.

Wait!  Does that mean he thinks that I am Santa?  Or does he believe that Santa is an NSA operative?  Or does he still have that sense of magic and wonder.

A friend of mine wrote a blog post about downsizing their Christmas.  (Read all of Bethany’s Bad Parenting Moments at:  Downsizing for The Boy has rarely been a problem when it comes to the boy.  His requests tend to the minor.  A game, a book, some legos, occasionally a toy that is in high demand that will be pulled out of the box, examined, and then left into the clutter of the room, something to be passed off at a toy swap somewhere down the line.

But not believing in Santa strikes me to the core.  Okay, personally, I admit, there is no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy is in question and I really wonder about the mythical “Congress” I hear talk of which is supposed to help the country.  But I do (cue corny music) believe in magic.  Maybe not the Abracadabra, Harry Potter or Prydain magic, but in the magic of people surprising us, the wonder of the world, the amazement that is in everyday life.  And for me, all of that started with Santa.

My son is pragmatist and a realist.  He tends away from the pure fiction books, favoring either historical or educational fiction or just straight up fact.  But Daddy lives in a fantasy world, and as long as possible, I am going to keep pulling him back into my fantasy, no matter how hard I have to work to prove that yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

Last Year still hopeful

Taking care of her boys

Taking care of her boys

I still believe I still believe


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