There is no such thing as Santa Claus...but maybe there should be something?

Today at the Y a lady asked H if she was getting excited for Santa. Miss H stared at her blankly and finally answered, "no."

She has no idea who Santa is.

I have conflicting views and feelings about Santa, the tooth fairy, etc. The thing is, we don't lie to our kids. This seems to really surprise people. I'm not sure why, though. I feel like that's just a natural thing not to do. At least for me.

This includes all those little "fun" childhood lies. We don't teach the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus. Doesn't mean that they don't get stockings or Easter Baskets. We haven't really discussed the tooth thing yet, but we've got time. We just don't say that Santa filled their stockings.

I'm not against Santa or any of the other childhood characters. It's not like we don't read books with Santa or anything. Well, I guess we haven't. But I am not opposed to doing so. If she wants to visit Santa at the mall, I'm not opposed. I'll happily teach her about the real St. Nick, and tell her the stories of Santa that other children are lead to believe. I would never for a millisecond lead her to believe that people who teach these stories to their children are wrong or bad. But more like religion. Not everyone shares the same religious beliefs, and that's okay. Not everyone shares the same Santa, Easter Bunny, etc., beliefs.

For me it's all a matter of the lying. I remember always thinking as a kid that if my parents were capable of lying to me about Santa, what else were they lying about? I had a hard time truly trusting adults as a child. I viewed them all as liars. Even after I was old enough to comprehend that lying about Santa was for fun, not meant to hurt anyone. And to be honest, it wasn't like finding out Santa wasn't real was traumatic for me. I'd never been a huge believer anyway. It was that people were lying to me that had the lasting impact.

I don't know how I'm supposed to knowingly lie to my children, but then expect them to tell the truth. I mean, can I really tell them that it's okay for Momma to lie, but not them? Wouldn't that be confusing for them? Obviously it was for me, but perhaps I was the exception, not the rule.

So yeah, maybe I'm ruining my children and their imaginations by not pretending Santa is real during these early years, but I'm hoping to do the opposite.

I don't think those who choose to do Santa or anything else are wrong. I think it's just one of those areas, you know, like every area in parenting, where we just have to come to the conclusion of what is best for us.

Santa, the Easter Bunny, etc., just doesn't match up with my personal or religious beliefs. My religion says that lying is a sin. It's not a gray area. There is no leeway for white lies. A lie is a lie. And it's a sin. For me, personally, that's a pretty big deal. I am certainly not sin-free (pregnant before I was married...), but I do try to at least avoid the sins rhat go agsinst my personsl moral beliefs as well. So I'm pretty set on my no-lying policy.

So I won't teach my children about the fairy-tale version of Santa; I'll tell them the truth about where babies come from; I'll always be honest with them when they ask, even if I want to shield and protect their young, tender minds. Because for us, it's just what works.

That all said, I'm trying. Like, really, really hard to figure out how to make things magical for them still. I want the holidays to be magical; they have that right. I just don't know how to do it without lying exactly.

I remember all the holidays growing up were these phenomenal events that I LOVED. Though looking back, I loved that I had so much family there celebrating. And that's probably the kicker. My kids don't have half a dozen siblings and aunts and uncles who comes around for the holidays to partake in a feast with them. And for me, that's what made it magical.

Driving around to look at lights with my Dad while "Santa" (and this was loooong after we all knew Santa was not real) delivered presents on Christmas Eve for us. I remember always knowing Santa wasn't real, and yet we all played into it because it was fun.

I want Christmas and Thanksgiving and even the 4th of July to be amazing, magical events for my kids to look back on. I certainly don't want them to be shortchanged because their mother is a bit cynical and far too realistic. But finding that healthy median is proving to be a real challenge. Mostly I don't know how to lie and my imagination sucks.

And then J just doesn't like the holidays period. So he's zero help. Zero.

I guess I am at the crossroads of finding a way to make it all fun and magical without compromising myself and my own views. But they deserve to be kids. They deserve to have imaginations and believe in whatever they want to believe. They deserve to be young and innocent.

And to be honest, I deserve to have this all be a bit easier. Ha!

They pick up on everything

I know they always say kiddos pick up on the little things just as much as the big things. I just didn’t realize how much so until this morning.

I was unloading the dishwasher while H and B were playing. Both armed with fruit pouches…

I walked into the living room to check on them – both riding the rocking turtle together. (His name was Sheldon – how could we not have gotten a rocking turtle named Sheldon!?). But behind them, on their little table, was fruit pouch sauce food stuff all over.

I asked H if B did this, and she said, “Yes.”

But it took me about two seconds after grabbing a rag to clean it up that I realized B didn’t do it – it wasn’t his fruit pouch.

So I said to H, “Did B take your applesauce, mija?”

H: “No.”

Me: “But this is your applesauce on the table, not B’s.”

H: “I know.”

Me: “But you said it was B’s when I asked. Why didn’t you tell me it was yours?”

H got really quiet for a second and then replied, “I didn’t want you to get angry.”

Now, I never yell. The last time I can remember truly yelling was when H decided to run into the road at the beginning of summer. And I don’t know who I scared more – her or J.  I don’t punish her for pretty much anything, there’s a lot of hugging and talking and hippy-free-love around here, though it does go differently on occasion.  That doesn’t mean I don’t get mad or frustrated, I just try my best to hide it from them, and something like a mess really doesn’t get me in a tizzy at all.

What I’m trying to say is; the idea that I would be mad over a mess really threw me off. Messes don’t get me mad. Ever. Annoyed, maybe. Angry, no.

“I wouldn’t be angry,” I told her.

Then she told me that I would say her name, and she said it with that perfect air of annoyance and exasperation that someone says when they sigh and are, well, annoyed and exasperated.

For a second I didn’t know what to say. Do I tell her mommy isn’t mad or annoyed or anything? Do I protect her, at 2.5, from my feelings, when I know she is so small and can hardly handle her own oftentimes?

Well, if you think that’s what I should have done, then I messed up again.

Instead I told her Mommy was sorry if that made her think Momma was angry at her. I’m not. Sometimes Momma just gets really tired of cleaning up, cleaning up, cleaning up, and I don’t know how to handle my own feelings properly, so I say things in a not-nice voice. But I will try really hard to only use a nice voice so I don’t make her feel bad, especially because there is no reason for her to feel bad over a mess. An accident.

Maybe that was too much explanation. I don’t know. But I do know that I never once realized that sighing affected her. That she picked up on it.

I can’t expect myself to always be happy, cheery around my babes, especially if I’m genuinely not. But I also need to check myself before dishing out my emotions onto them.

They’re just babies, after all.

They have their whole lives to figure out other people’s emotions and carry them like baggage.

For now, they can just school me on how to keep myself in check.