Santa

My big girl questioned me pretty hard on the whole Santa issue a while back, when she was only 3 or 4. I mean, come on, shouldn’t they remain naïve at least through kindergarten? Anyway, she was persistent, looking for inaccuracies and loopholes and. . . I’m just not so good at lying. Finally, I gave up and confessed, “Santa isn’t real like this chair. He’s real like my love for you.” It stopped the line of questioning, and nothing more was said on the topic for quite a while.

But then, when she started to talk Santa again, she spoke–and still speaks–as if she believes entirely. When I’m feeling optimistic, I hope that she’s forgotten enough of the conversation to hold onto a little magic even if somewhere deep down she knows it’s better not to push it.

And, you know, in general she’s too smart for own good, but sometimes the discrepancies are just goofy.  Last fall she mentioned in passing that there’s no such thing as fairies, but then she corrected herself: “except the Tooth Fairy.”  Which is even more unbelievable if you know that she is well aware that “The Splinter Fairy” is just her mom avoiding the hysterics by going after her with tweezers, a needle, and a headlamp while she’s unconscious. (Yes, I do.  And it works quite well, thank you.)

This year she’s loved the video from Santa, even though she felt that he was inaccurate because she really doesn’t have to try to be good in school.  “I’m just naturally good,” she says.  See, I knew that I should have picked the “nice to your sister” option, but honestly, I don’t think that she’s excelled at that one enough to be complimented, even if it’s by an imaginary video man.

So, I just wrote a Santa note in disguised handwriting that looks like mine.  Maybe she’s  just humoring me.  If so, I will have to thank her some day.

They’ll be a post later on things happening this weekend–after things simmer down from the morning frenzy.