Visiting Santa

The Child gets out of school at noon and then it's off to downtown for our annual sushi/Santa/carousel excursion.

I wasn't going to say anything about visiting Santa this year. The Child has figured things out, although she still likes to play along. How else do you position yourself to get an XBox when The Parents have been saying "No" repeatedly and resoundingly? But I'm not one of the parents who needs an annual photo of Santa representing every year from birth to college so I could take it or leave it. But she asked about it last week so we're off.

She wrote a lovely letter. It was charmingly decorated and carefully written, including proper salutations, queries into the state of his health and wishes for a Merry Christmas. Between all the pleasantries is a very extensive list. I felt compelled to ask, upon reading it, "You aren't actually expecting all of this, are you?" "Oh, no," she blithely replied. But apparently it never hurts to ask.

I feel a tremendous amount of freedom this year. In years past there was some pressure to fulfill the list because I didn't want to unseat the myth too soon. Much as I do sometimes wish she'd be a little more mature, I don't want her to grow up too fast. The most intense Christmas was the year when her dearest wish was for the North Pole. What? "The North Pole, Mommy. You know, snow and elves and all that stuff". "Like in 'The Santa Clause?'" "Exactly! I want to be able to play with the elves and stuff".

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary!" I appropriately thought to myself. "How am I going to pull this off?"

My neice Hannah had come for a visit and she was willing to help me make a Christmas miracle so we went shopping. At the Bon we did find a mess of houses and buildings, one of those 'create your own scene' collections but it would have cost me a) hundreds of dollars to assemble a reasonable assortment and 2) it was far too cartoonish for my taste. But at least we had a plan B. Then we were off to University Village and wandered into a temporary storefront that was selling nothing but Christmas. We found some lovely ornaments and as I was paying I heard Hannah gasp. "Auntie!" she said, "look at this!" It was the North Pole. It stood about 8 inches high and a foot or so across. It was a factory with moving parts, busy elves, tuneful little musical selections and a chimney that puffed smoke. It was perfect. I was sure it was outrageously priced and asked with trepidation. It was about $35 dollars. Hannah and I both started to cry. I had to explain to the concerned clerks about the little 6 year old I wasn't ready to disappoint and they started crying.

This has all the sappy earmarks of a Hallmark commercial but there you have it. I'm a sap. Christmas was saved and a little child's faith in Santa preserved for one more year. At a drug store we found small toys, some cotton batting and glitter for snow and other oddments so The Child could embellish to her heart's content. And just to yank up the sappiness quotient a little higher, when she opened that gift on Christmas morning she looked at it in awe and then wept with joy. So there.

This morning I went to the co-op for mistletoe and cash. I was chatting with the clerk about visiting Santa and the XBox thing and how we've told The Child that Santa doesn't do small electronics. The woman behind me said, "Our Santa doesn't bring those, either". "Books! Underwear!" I declared. "Now that's my kind of Santa!"

It's not that bad. While there is nothing this year that has the 'wow' factor of a puppy or an X Box, I'm sure she'll be happy. She isn't going to do without. Plus, she knows that Christmas isn't about the stuff. But let's face it, everybody enjoys a little stuff at Christmas. I know I'm counting on that Jane Austen action figure. Maybe I'd better mention that when we see the Big Guy today.