I originally wrote Well, What Do You Think? and published it to I Love Free Soap in 2012. My children, twin sons, were seven years old at the time. It charts their relationship with Santa and his magic from age five to age seven, along with my unwillingness to let them let him and it go.
Vince and Nick are ten now. Off to middle school next year. My guess is that openly believing in Santa Claus on a middle school campus could result in an ass-kicking. So yeah, at this point, I know that they know that I know that they know.
Even so, I'd like to think that in some small corner of each of their souls, they still believe in magic.
I know I do.
***
November 26, 2012
Well, What Do You Think?
"Just ask them what they think," my mother tells me
through the phone line, like this latest parenting dilemma of mine really is
simple child's play.
"What do you mean, 'ask
them what they think'?"
"When they ask you, 'Mommy, is there such thing as
Santa?', respond by asking them what they think."
"So, you want me to 'flip that shit' on them like Leon
on Curb Your Enthusiasm?"
"Lizzie, I don't know what you're talking about but
certainly don't swear at them. You just don't
want to lie to them. You want them to figure it out on their own."
I giggled to myself.
My parents don't have HBO.
It took every fiber of my Dad's being to trade in his "rabbit ears"
antenna for a monthly subscription to basic cable ten years ago.
"Well, how did that work with us?" I finally asked her. I'm the middle of three children so I was
expecting my mother to share three data points from her own case study comprised
of her own three, very different children.
"Well, I don't remember what happened with your
brother. I think the older girls up the
street told him and he probably told you, but because Jaque was five years
younger, I told you and your brother I'd kill you both if you told her." My mother told me, matter-of-fact-like.
"So you didn't actually use this method on us?"
"I think I eventually used it on your sister and she
figured it out on her own."
"Huge help, mom."
"I try."
Completely unconvinced that this was the right approach, I decided
to use it anyway – not unlike most of my parenting tactics.
"Mommy, is Santa real?"
The question was first lobbed out by Vince in
Kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN! I was so upset. I knew immediately that as soon as he knows,
Nick knows and it's all over in my house!
No more magic! No Santa means no
Easter Bunny! No Easter Bunny means no
Tooth Fairy! They hadn't even lost a
single freakin' tooth yet!
"What are you even talking about?" I barked back
at him. Fortunately, his brother was not
within ear shot.
"I just don't understand how Santa can go all over the
world on a sleigh and go down chimneys."
This is SO Jeff's side
of the family. A bunch of engineers
trying to actually MAKE SENSE of the world around them instead of MAKE BELIEVE like
regular freakin' people!
Then I remembered my mother's line:
"Well, what do you think?"
"I don't know."
He paused. "I really want
that giant T-Rex, and the microscope and the spy gear and Star Wars legos…"
By some miracle, the conversation turned to what Christmas
is really about - all the shit he wanted.
In the end, the Christmas of 2010 was a fantasy replete with
elves and reindeer and my main man with the red suit and the white beard.
The following Christmas, 2011, they turned the heat up a little.
"I think it's you, Mommy. I think you're Santa." Nick stared at me point blank when we were
getting ready for school one morning.
I almost threw up.
You CAN'T lie to
them.
My mother's words echoed in my head.
"Why do you think that?" I finally mustered.
"I don't know. Is it you?"
"What do you think?" I asked him, trying to hide my panic.
"Do we still get presents if we don't believe in
Santa?" Nick smiled his sweet,
dimpled smile at me.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, hell.
Just go with it.
"Gosh, I don't know." I widened my eyes, shrugged my shoulders, and
tilted my head in a yikes-that-would-sure-suck kinda way.
In hindsight, I know it was wrong but I wasn't ready. Nick got the message and backed off quick.
The charade continued through December 26th. The stockings were hung by the chimney with
care. St. Nicholas devoured his cookie
and glass of milk (mommy forgot the giant carrot for the reindeer but who
remembers that?).
Did I sense that they smelled bullshit when Mommy's stocking
was stuffed but Daddy's wasn't? Yes, but
Daddy can be naughty.
In 2012, my number was up. I could already feel the walls coming
in on me in November.
We had written our letters to Santa, which were somehow getting more and more specialized.
Vince wanted a Spiderman costume just like the one Spider Man wore in
that year's blockbuster theatrical release The
Amazing Spider-Man.
"Can he even get the goggles right, Mommy?" Vince asked as he squinted his eyes and
demonstrated with his hands how Spiderman's goggles, as Vince refers to them,
are meant to sit on his face.
"I don't know."
"He can make everything, right?"
"I guess."
"But aren't those elves so little and they have so much
to make."
Now he was trying to
make heads or tails of the freakin' assembly line in the workshop. Too many episodes of How It's Made on the
Science Channel. You think you're doing something right by turning on a little educational
programming.
"I don't know."
"How small do you think they are?" He continued.
"Who? The
elves?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know.
Maybe like a midget. I mean
little person."
I knew it needed to stop.
"Maybe include a picture of the costume with your
letter." I finally answered.
"That's a good idea, mommy."
Phew.
The worst was yet to come. The following Sunday, when we were attempting
to decorate the tree:
"Mommy, is Santa really real?" Nick asked, truly by way of making
conversation. He bridged to the topic
from a conversation about his three favorite ornaments from Grandma Bad Advice.
"Honey, what do you think?"
"You keep asking me what I think. I want to know what you think."
Why are they so smart?
As he said the words, I literally got off the couch and ran
into the kitchen yelling back to him, "Oh, wait, honey, I have to, I'll be
back, give me a second…"
I stood in the middle of the kitchen for a few seconds.
"Anybody want popcorn and hot cocoa?" I yelled to
them.
"Yes, mommy, yes, yes!" They both yelled from underneath the sea of
ornaments in the living room.
"Ok. Coming
right up!"
I knew in my heart that Santa and I had successfully dodged our very last bullet.
For those unfamiliar with his magic, get
yourself a big dose of Leon from Curb Your
Enthusiasm here:
Christmas laughs:
 |
| Down and out Santa from Trading Places. |
