my best friend growing up was jewish and lived right next door. one day, when we were about five, we were playing fighting on the bottom of the stairs at my home. we were fighting over some ridiculous santa book i had checked out from the library. in my ever-so tactful cool, i turned to her and said: “it’s too bad you’re jewish because santa won’t even stop at your house!” and this little girl, not missing a beat, turned to me and said: “santa isn’t even real” (herself not really wanting to believe it). if memory (or storytelling) serves me correct, i ran into the living room where my parents were sitting –no doubt listening and waiting to see how this whole five-year-old cat fight would go down– and burst out crying, asking them if it was true.
it was true. santa is not real. though, they were probably a little confused at my intense emotions since they had never told me he was real. they had only ever said he was our imaginary friend that helps us celebrate jesus’ birth. i took what i wanted to believe and ran with it. and though i’m sure they were casting looks of death over my shoulder at my friend for spilling the beans in that way, i assume they were a bit relieved the cat was out of the bag and i applaud them for not trying to continuously pull the wool over my eyes and perpetuate the santa myth. because, it turned out, christmas — and even santa– became no less magical to me now that i was in on the truth of the existence of santa. for a handful of years afterward i still insisted we put out milk & cookies, and i still sat on my dad’s or uncle’s lap when they dressed up as santa on christmas eve to pay a visit to our extended family dinner, and i still wondered just how it could even be possible for one man, real or otherwise, to visit every single home of christmas-celebrating families. just like i continued as a child to put my tooth under my pillow and sure as hell expected a gift from the “tooth fairy” who i knew full well was not real but played along… not just to get a gift but because i liked the idea of there being a little woman with wings who came and rewarded me for being so brave.
kids are so creative and imaginative. and christmas, santa or not, is an incredibly magical and special holiday/holy day. and i have come to firmly believe that pushing the santa agenda and not giving our kids a little more credit when they start asking questions or slowly figuring it out on their own, does a complete disservice to what this holiday is about and all the other important traditions that go along with it. i’ve heard stories of kids as old as ten (or even a 13 year old!) still believing in santa. and, frankly, that’s ridiculous. i do not understand one bit why parents insist on doing that to their children.
over a baby-free dinner out one night, jp and i discussed why santa won’t have a part in our family traditions (to be clear, ramona knows who santa “is” and has taken his photo on his lap [the creepiest santa i’ve ever seen]. we’re not barring santa from our lives completely, we just are not encouraging the myth in our personal traditions). here’s what we came up with:
- strangers are bad. unless they’re bearded and have presents. then go ahead and sit on their lap and tell them your secret wishes. this mostly pertains to the kids who are undeniably scared for their life and screaming to not go near that man or to get down off his lap right away and we stand there and laugh and say “it’s ok. go ahead. smile for my photo!” basically going against everything we’re working on teaching them about stranger danger and creepy adults to avoid. i know, i know — most kids know the difference between santa and the hypothetical weird man at the park. but the idea of going against your child’s better judgment and anxiety (when they’re sitting there pleading with you not to go near santa) for shits and giggles seems entirely disrespectful of our little one’s decisions and personal space. remember: your child is not a doll. trust your child’s intuition. (ironically, this didn’t seem to pertain to ramona bc this girl practically dove into santa’s lap with her older cousin. she wants to be friends with everyone. we may have to work on that…).
- the santa myth generally teaches kids that they ‘deserve’ these gifts for being good (don’t even get me started on the silliness of this elf on the shelf business). we want to teach ramona to know gifts as something given out of love, not earned. we want to teach her to have real gratitude, and the santa myth grossly distorts that notion.
- jp and i don’t like the idea of misleading our little ones, especially when they will certainly find out that we did it intentionally. there will be plenty of situations while our children are growing up where i’m sure we’ll tell partial truths to protect them or their innocence, but we hope we keep these to an absolute minimum. we want to be honest and transparent with our little ones. so when ramona comes to us and asks: is santa real? there is no way i’m going to figure out an even bigger lie to make sure the santa myth keeps going. if she’s old enough or wise enough or privy enough or curious enough to ask the question, we will honor that with the truth.
- the common response to what i said in the previous bullet point is that the whole santa thing is no big deal –lighten up, emily!– and santa just accentuates the joy and magic of christmas. but everything about ramona already attests to the strength of her imagination and awe in christmas, as it is, without santa. she’s in complete wonder at the christmas lights hung around town and loves baking and decorating christmas cookies with her diri and looks forward to seeing what’s on the advent calendar docket for the day and i can’t stop her from spinning and dancing around to our christmas albums. and she’s about to be blown away this weekend at a performance of the nutcracker. and on a daily basis, ramona pretends/imagines/creates magic at everything she does anyway: cooking, dancing, playing house, being an airplane or a turtle or a kangaroo, talking with her dollies, pretending to eat my kisses. ramona doesn’t need santa to feel “magic.” she’s got enough of that of her own and that’s what we want to encourage.
- my main reason? christmas gifts are something that take a lot of thought, time, and money on our part as parents. why oh why, especially as someone whose love language is gifts, would i give the credit to an imaginary figure? if santa is going to be responsible for a gift, it’s going to be the christmas eve pajamas.
it’s that time, right before the holidays. the autumn has settled in and the winter is drawing near. plans for thanksgiving and christmas are starting to move around in my head but i’m not ready to give in to the hype just yet. ever? for now, i’m enjoying my quiet moments, my cozy home, my fall candle, my space free of decorations. before things get a little more hectic. i am reminding myself that things only need to be as complicated as i allow them. here’s to simplicity.
take a breath. take it in. enjoy and be thankful for what you have.
this week’s contributor is from courtney, of parent tango, a she says/he says blog about marriage, family, and parenting. in this post she writes about the transition of being a mother of one to multiples, and the beauty of it.
this week’s contributor is from courtney, of parent tango, a she says/he says blog about marriage, family, and parenting. in this post she writes about the transition of being a mother of one to multiples, and the beauty of it.
I know several women who are pregnant with their second child. All of them have expressed trepidation over how they will ever be able to love the second child as much as they love the first. I can relate. The mother of four and an only child myself, I am here to tell you, you can love all of your children hugely. And you’re doing a good thing by given them another person to share their young life with.
As an only child, I went along obliviously happy as a lark, not realizing how fortunate I was to benefit from the perks of having my parents’ full attention and the opportunities that went along with that. But when I was 10, my parents told me they had had another baby, born prematurely, two years after I was born. He lived only an hour. Besides the heartache of my parents which I couldn’t even wrap my young brain around, I was suddenly so sad for myself. I went from being contentedly solo in the world to feeling the absence of a sibling I had never known to miss.
From then on, whenever my parents were particularly annoying (they grew increasingly annoying as I entered my teen years, naturally), I wished my brother had been there to commiserate with. I felt lonely for the first time ever and wished he had been there to hang around with. I was changed. And it changed what I thought about having my own children someday.
I married a man who had wanted to have four children since he was a young child. I wasn’t so sure about that number, since four people sounded like a crowd to me! As life and my husband’s fear of a vasectomy would have it, we did indeed have four. For the most part, our kids are friends and certainly devote a lot of time to talking about how incredibly annoying their parents are. It must be great for them.
Sometimes I look at them and remember when I was like my pregnant friend, unable to imagine how I could possibly, ever, love another child as much as I loved my first child. So in the wee hours of the morning, before heading to the hospital in labor I whispered to my sleeping two-year-old, “I’m sorry.” Yes, I apologized to my first child for giving birth to my second! It seems so unfair to the second child and it was so untrue. I wasn’t sorry I was having him. And I wasn’t sorry I’d given her a sibling. Of course, I adored him heart and soul immediately. And my first child loved him too when she wasn’t hating him.
I often watch my children interact (with some envy) and see how their relationships with each other morph and change over the years. They all have different relationships and roles with each other. Most of the time, they probably don’t consider each other much of a gift. But they are, providing playmates, confidants, and exercises in all sorts of life skills.
So I take back the apology I made to my daughter 20 years ago. I had more than enough love to go around. And I gave them each other.
this is so beautifully written and i appreciate the honesty in it. i am a bit nervous about introducing another child into the mix bc i am having so much fun with miss ramona and am a little worried how a little squish is going to change our dynamic! however, i know that what these two siblings will do for each other will be immense. thanks, courtney!
looking at these photos from our visit to nashville this past july, i’m struck by the gentleness of this morning moment. i had gotten ramona from the crib she was in and brought her into bed with me for more snuggles. she brought along the magna doodle she had recently discovered and sat there engrossed in it for quite some time. and i sat with her. in the moment. just us and morning light and crisp sheets.
this doesn’t always happen as often as i’d like. as often it needs to happen. i’ve been reading thich nhat hanh’s book, the miracle of mindfulness, and the part i keep coming back to is “washing the dishes to wash the dishes.” by this he means: be fully present in the moment you are in. if you rush through a moment in order to move on to the next, then you miss out on a lot of living. thoughts, ideas, intentional breathing, revelations… these can all happen during moments of mundane tasks or seemingly unproductive down times if the tasks and moments are done intentionally, with care.
i still hate doing dishes but i have found a way to do them and do them well without trying to rush it all. being mindful of what my hands are actually doing slows my heart and calms my breath. and then i try to transfer this to moments with my family: instead of always compartmentalizing which moments are mine (alone time during ramona’s nap or after she’s gone to bed or when i can drop her off at daycare) i try to take advantage of all moments –making them all mine by being present in all of them–, savoring the time and being aware of reading her a book to read a book, or helping her put on her clothes to put on her clothes, or playing tea time to play tea time, or eating breakfast to eat breakfast, or snuggling in bed with papa in the morning to snuggle in bed with papa in the morning. one more thing will always be happening after this thing is done. but there’s no need to always be looking ahead at that next moment.
i know, as parents, it is quite hard to savor every moment: there are so many things that have to get done on top of the things we want to do with our little ones. there are timelines and nap times and family events and laundry and play dates and personal needs for self-improvement and quiet time. i am never going to be blissed out every single second of parenthood. but i can try and see the grace and peace in time spent doing what i would rather not be doing. and take extra joy when i get to do exactly what it is i want to do. after all, i have a little girl watching my every move and i’d love for her to grow up as one who is never too old to stop and smell the flowers or observe marching ants and is never too proud or lazy to pick up after herself or take time for what others might need more time for.
if you cannot find joy in peace in these moments of sitting, then the future itself will only flow by as a river flows by, you will not be able to hold it back, you will be incapable of living the future when it has become the present. -thich nhat hanh, the miracle of mindfulness, p. 36.
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