...you smell like beef and cheese, you don't smell like Santa...

Guilty as charged...I admit it. I use Christmas. I have compared it to therapy, I have used it to elicit feelings of warmth and happiness. I'm guilty as charged. But, who doesn't? The day I have dreaded for 390 days came today, the first full day of Christmas break. I was waxing poetic at the dinner table, about a time when I was a child, camped out on the landing in my old house, and how I thought I saw Santa. It's no joke, I actually thought I saw Santa from the waist down. I heard the bells, I heard his "Ho Ho Ho,,,". To which I had one Tall sitting on the edge of his seat, and the other dropping the bomb of the century, "...no way! No way that is true! You are lying! You're the one who told me he wasn't real..." (insert jaws dropping, silent sobbing here).

It all started last December. Abe came crying to me, telling me that not only did Oscar not believe in Santa, that he told him the whole thing was fake. Life, as I knew it at the time, had very little to be excited about. Their father had just passed away. There were very few things to put faith in, for me and for them. I was broken, sad, and needed something to look forward to. I'll be damned if Oscar was going to ruin what little innocence reality had already taken away. I had a discussion with him about the 'magic' that Christmas had to offer. That while I was in fact 'Santa', we all need something to believe in, and that growing older meant that we were now a part of the new 'magic', by helping others to believe in something that they couldn't see. I told him that being 'truth-seeker' would get him no where fast...nothing for Christmas, and he could bet if he was telling what he knew at school, he'd be the LAST on any invite list to a friend's birthday party. I thought I brought the message home...but I under estimated his need for being right.

So, as he is blurting out his 'knowledge' tonight at the dinner table, Abe is nearly in tears that he doesn't believe in Santa. Nora is awe-struck at the fact Oscar would take Kris Kringle's name in vain, and the only speakable words that I can put together, those that would be suitable for others to hear, mind you there were MANY of which I cannot say, ASS HAT. I promptly ended his dinner, told him to find his favorite electronic device, and hand it over. I cleaned up the smalls, and met him in another room. He was frightened. He looked at me, as if to know what he did, but confused all at the same time. Honestly, some of the words that left my lips, I'm not proud of repeating. Some of the feelings I have towards this holiday aren't at all about the actual holiday. Some of my dependency of said holiday, have nothing to do with him, and more to do with what I CANNOT FIX, CHANGE, REPLACE. For that, I wish I would have stepped outside and taken a couple of deep breaths, but he got the fury...

I told him, while being 'RIGHT' was his mission in life, sometimes he HAD to think of others. I told him that while last year SUCKED the only thing I felt like I could do right (with the help of many friends and family) was Christmas. I told him, that while life didn't make sense, having your father ripped away for no good reason, some how, believing in something else helped his brothers and sister. I told him that he was an ass hat for taking that from THEM just because he, for what ever reason at the time, HAD TO BE RIGHT about something. I told him that while it saddened me that he no longer believed in Santa, the fact that the others did was a gift to me. It was something I could still do like before, only alone. I told him that believing in something, sometimes, makes no sense, but that it was unfair to try to sully those beliefs for his own gratification. I told him, knowing what he 'knows', and is so willing to ruin for others, he had better PRAY that there is anything under the tree come Christmas morning...at this point underwear should be something to look forward to...

At that point, I went outside to collect myself. I looked/heard the wind chimes that are by my back door. They were chiming away, as for what ever reason they seem to do when I am about to loose my shit. I looked at them and literally said aloud, "...alright then, what the hell am I supposed to do now? They need you, if for nothing else than in something to believe in, as clearly I have failed...". I went in the house, grabbed some lined paper, and handed a piece to Oscar. I told him, he had better write a note to Santa, explaining how sorry he was, for doubting him and for attempting to dash the hopes of those who believe. Oscar sort of looked at me queerly. I whispered to him, "...if you are looking to open anything on Christmas morning, you better EXPLAIN how very sorry you are in this letter". To which Nora said she wanted to tell Santa she loved him, could she have a piece of paper? Abe walked into the kitchen and said that he had promised the Elf on the shelf that he'd write a letter to Santa, and he hadn't yet done it (can I just say, that I don't have a favorite child, but at Christmas time Abe is my all time favorite child). Oscar wrote two pre-teen sentences about how he messed up, but wanted to know from me what to write next...to which I said, "...just think about how badly you want what was on your Christmas list, it'll come to you what to say...".

I guess, in a way, I can exhale. I've put a lot of unspoken pressure on Charles Schultz, Dr. Seuss, Frank Capra, O. Henry, Clement Clarke Moore and countless others to try to make lasting impressions of Christmas on my family. I so badly want my kids to believe in the magic of Christmas forever, as if I have some secret super power to do so...but it's not possible. Perhaps, I need to face the facts, life doesn't work that way. Perhaps I need to grasp that everyone, even children, eventually understand it's not real. I see this being the last year Abe believes. I have to swallow the pill, he shares a room and a DVD player with Oscar the TRUTH SEEKER. While it saddens me, I look forward to next Christmas, maybe Abe knowing the truth (far too early for me, but I digress) will be helpful. Maybe his excitement will kick into high gear about the time I'm tired of hiding the Elf on the shelf? Maybe I can have some company while wrapping Christmas gifts. I shudder to think of it this year. But, come Christmas morning, I can't lie, his face is the one I'm going to be taking mental pictures of to get me through the next year...