I am so over the lies of Christmas! It starts out innocently enough… the elf on the shelf, Santa, the flying reindeer, the Polar Express, the North Pole Experience. All of these Christmas time experiences were brought into our family with good intentions. But now I have a savvy six year old who knows it is all fake, and an 11 years old and a 9 year old who truly with all their hearts still believe. So I am the one that feels trapped in the Christmas non-truths. I seriously hate the physical feeling I get when my youngest is questioning it all and I just shrug him off and tell him, he has to believe in the magic.
My nine year old believes so whole-heartily, it resulted in a melt down after she made a huge mistake with the big guy in the red suit. Let me set the scene for you…
We had just been through every room at Santa’s North Pole workshop. The Toy Hall of Fame, the Original Workshop, the toy room where the kids helped the elves dress the bears and tested foam rocket launchers which resulted in an all out foam rocket war between the elves and the kids. The smiles and excitement on the faces of all the kids were electrifying. We moved on to the toy shipping room followed by Mrs. Claus’ bakery. The bakery smelled of the most heavenly chocolate, it was impossible to pass up the cookie and the hot chocolate that was passed around. The kids posed for pictures with Mrs. Claus, and once again the smiles were huge. We sat and wrote letters to Santa in the mail room, then got to see his control panels and sleigh used on the special night of flight across the planet.
Finally, we made it to the last room! There he sat, waiting for us! The kids ran to him, gave him hugs, sat on his lap, took pictures, and then the question came, “What do you kids want for Christmas?” The 11 year old answered, “X-Box”, to which we internally say, “no way!” The six year old proudly states, “a BMX trick bike!” And we nod, because that purchase has been made and is waiting for a pick up on the 24th. Now to the 9 year old, she blurts out, “a Barbie” and my jaw drops. Why the hell did she just ask for a Barbie? I am confused and perplexed and the only image that keeps running through my head is Ralphy telling Santa that he wants a football instead of the Red Rider BB Gun. Our time is up with Santa and the elf shoos us through the final door out to the bonfire where our trolley will take us back to reality. Once outside, I see her sad face and ask her what was wrong. She shrugged, and it dawned on me, she screwed up her request. I ask, “Did you mean to ask Santa for a Barbie?” And cue the melt down. She was so genuinely upset she couldn’t even talk. It was a quiet trolley ride back with her Santa hat pulled down over her face. Oh that poor girl. It was hilarious, and sad, and the perfect memory for story telling for years to come. Luckily, we didn’t buy her a Barbie, but instead something we know she will love.
As we drive away from that magical place, I have a nine year old in total distress, an 11 year old that is singing and happy (until Christmas morning, when for the second year in a row, Santa doesn’t bring the coveted X-Box), and my six year old telling me, “that was all fake, right Mom?” Oh parenthood, sigh.