In the past (specifically, B.C.), even if I had a truly wonderful Christmas, there was always something that could easily sour my mood. It's a lot harder to sour my mood when I'm focused on making sure my kids have a great Christmas. Their excitement and wonder are contagious.
Obviously, we all know the true meaning of Christmas, and it's important to recognize its significance, but with regards to small children--I have to confess that I LOVE building and supporting the myth of Santa Claus. If you were to stop by my house on Christmas Eve, you would find me scurrying about, completing the following tasks:
- talking very loudly to Randy in the living room while the boys try to fall asleep ("Ran, did you hear Santa was delayed in Florida? Do you remember what time he got to our place last year?")
- chewing up baby carrots and scattering them over the front lawn (so that my boys will see just how messy those reindeer are when we leave them a plate of carrots);
- leaving a large, muddy footprint inside the front door (where Santa must enter our house) just so that I can complain about having to clean it up when I spot it in the morning;
- mashing up some cookie crumbs on the plate we left out for Santa;
- disguising my handwriting on the gifts to the boys from Santa;
- etc.
I am going to be upset when my boys stop believing. E has already started to second-guess Santa (he undoubtedly overheard something from older kids at school), but for now he believes Santa exists "but he doesn't really live at the North Pole." Randy and I like to tell E "It's in your best interest to believe in Santa." And honestly, I think this is useful advice for all of us.
