Oh, my plight of Santa Claus

For some extremely naïve reason I thought this whole Santa business was going to be easy. Very black and white. We don’t make a fuss about Santa, H won’t either. The end.

I, for some reason, failed to take into account the fact that my dear sweet girl is nothing like the cynical pragmatist that her mother is. She is young and open to all things. Her imagination expands her.

And it includes Santa Claus.

And I’m torn.

She first brought up Santa Monday afternoon as we were walking into the Y. It went something like this:

H: I really need to go see Santa. Can we? Can we?

Me: Why do you need to see Santa?

H: Because he brings me presents for Christmas.

Me: No, he doesn’t. Mommy does. (Slay me, it was my immediate reaction.)

H: No, Santa does.

Me: Who told you that?

H: I don’t know.

Me: Okay, then where did you get the idea that Santa brings you presents?

H: Oh, from Dora!

Well, I all ready had issues with the DVD we just checked out from the library. Some holiday Dora. I should have known to watch it first. Just from the tidbits I’d overheard in the car I was not thrilled with it. It talked about Swiper being naughty and not getting presents for Christmas. Which I don’t agree with. Christmas presents are not contingent on being “bad” or “good.” And dear Lord, the last thing I want is my kids being “good” just because they know they will get gifts. That is not the kind of “goodness” I want from my kids. But I digress. Back to Santa.

I think I replied with something like, “Oh, okay” and let it go. That evening after she was in bed I called J up to get his thoughts (because – surprise! – he’s on travel). J is more anti-Santa than I am. And he feels a bit stronger about it than I do. So when he encouraged me to help her understand Santa isn’t real and to help her understand what Christmas is really about, I agreed.

So when H brought Santa up again, which was like the next morning, I explained to her that Santa was pretend. Just like Dora. We talked about it for a few minutes. I asked her if she understood. She said yes, “Santa is pretend like Dora.” And then literally asked if she could go see him because he is going to bring her presents.

I wanted to tear my hair out.

And I have no idea where she heard about visiting Santa Claus, because I have since then viewed the banned Dora DVD, and there is no mention of visiting him in malls or anything.

So I let it go. And when she mentioned it again I explained the history of St. Nick to her. And how from that we get the pretend Santa, yadda yadda yadda. She got it. All of it. She repeated it back to me.

And two hours later asked again to visit Santa.

This time I tried explaining how Christmas isn’t about gifts. It’s more about the giving. I explained how good it makes us feel, like when we got her cousin O presents. I reminded her of the angel we chose from the Salvation Army tree and how Saturday we are having a Momma-H shopping date to buy gifts for another little girl. I explained until I was blue in the face how Christmas was not about Santa.

But it is.

Apparently.

When you’re 2.5

I attempted again today to explain Jesus to her. How he’s the reason for the season and all that jazz. Mostly all she got from that was that he wasn’t born in the living room like she was, but he was born with the cows. That must have been cool to see the cows right when he was born.

So I finally agreed I’d take her to see Santa this weekend.

Because I don’t know what else to do.

I don’t want to kill her spirit.

I figure I haven’t lied to her. I’ve been as truthful and straightforward as they come.

And she still believes.

Maybe there is such thing as magic after all.

But seriously, if some creepy fat man gets credit for all my hard work I’m going to be a bit irritated. I’ll give it to him I suppose in the way of not contradicting my daughter unless she asks, but I’ll still be annoyed.

I guess its time to get back to the books and figure out how to handle Santa in the least damaging way possible. Because I swear to God, if someone takes a little 5 year old H out behind the house and tells her point blank that Santa and the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny and probably even God aren’t real, just lies her mother told her, and absolutely crushes her spirit, I won’t be able to handle it (not that I have any pent up anger about that from my own childhood or anything…). Just because, as H so happily told me this evening, I “can do everything,” I cannot watch my children be crushed to pieces when I could have prevented it.

So Santa, you better watch out whose chimney you come crawling down. Because if you start this game with my babies, you better intend to finish it. Nicely.