Santa's WHAT?!?!

My poor sister-in-law Mary was not feeling well over Christmas. She slept wrong one night, resulting in a kinked neck. Nothing she did helped it, and she couldn't sleep because of it.

In addition to no sleep, she was also juggling a hectic work schedule, a visiting mother, and all the chaos of a large family over Christmas.

But she took her small moments when she could find them. One was with her son Grant, who's 8. They were wrapping presents together when Grant spied a present that troubled him. It was a gift for his sister Gabi, from Santa. And it was two days BEFORE Christmas.

"Grant saw the present, Auntie Heather," my nephew Nic told me, very concerned. "And I think Aunt Mary told him the truth."

I stopped in my tracks when he said that.

"I know!" he said. "I hope she didn't, but I think she did. I didn't wanna tell him...I just couldn't do that to a little kid." He was so sweet and earnest, I had to hug him.

I completely forgot about the story until a few hours later. I had all the boys in my car and I asked what Santa was going to bring them.

Grant answered before anyone else. In the smallest, saddest voice I've ever heard, he said, "Santa's dead. But his spirit still delivers presents to us."

The car immediately went silent. I realized the story Mary had probably told him--about the real-life Saint Nicholas--and how he'd misinterpreted that story. I felt Mark and Nic both go rigid in their seats. I tensed up pretty good, too.

Mark nudged me from the passenger seat and whispered urgently, "Mom, there's something important I have to tell you later."

I knew it was the story about Grant seeing the present, so I whispered back, "I already know."

"No," Mark insisted. "It's important!"

I waved my hand at Mark in an "I got this" motion, although it was the farthest thing from the truth. I cleared my throat, stalled a moment, and asked in my best non-committal therapist voice, "Uhhhh...how do you feel about that?"

"Sad!" Grant cried, and I mentally slapped myself. Idiot!

"Me too!" I said. The car was still tense; there was an 8-year-old who thought Santa was dead, and the 12-year-olds were silently freaking out. I had to do something, fast.

"I don't believe it," I said, firmly. "I believe Santa's coming tonight--of course he is!! I believe in Santa!"

"Me too!" Nic shouted.

"I do, too!" Mark yelled. "I TOTALLY believe in Santa!"

I was grateful to them, and proud of them. They shouted so many Santa affirmations Grant couldn't help but smile.
 
"I believe in Santa, too!" he cried, and we all made a lot of whooping noises for Santa and his imminent arrival. I just sighed...whew, crisis (narrowly) averted!

When Mary got home, I told her the story. She yelped and turned bright red, covering her face in her hands. She said, "I told him about Saint Nicholas, and how he gave gifts, and how that tradition carried on after he died."

"That's what I figured," I said. "But that's not the message he took away..."

"I was just so tired!" she said. "And he caught me off guard...I didn't know what to tell him!"

Mary, Nathalie and I caused quite a ruckus from laughing so loud. Someone knocked on the door, and we immediately shut up. Tim slowly opened the door, poked his head in, looked at Mary and said in an accusatory tone, "DEAD?" Then he shut the door again and left without another word.

We erupted into a whole new fit of laughter.

My dad thought the story was hilarious, but my mom fretted about it.

"Oh no!" she cried. "Santa died at my house." 

She worried that would be Grant's only memory of his 8th Christmas.

But the kids were determined to right the situation. I put on the movie "Elf," which has a scene where one elf tells another, "Some kids don't believe in Santa--they think its their parents, but how can a parent deliver that many gifts in one night?"

All five of the big kids, who'd now heard the "Santa's dead" story, started yelling at the TV.

"It's not parents!" "I believe in Santa!" "Santa's REAL!" they shouted, and Grant happily shouted along with them.

But Grant's sad little proclamation lived on...we spent the rest of the holiday week whispering, "Santa's dead," and bursting into laughter afterwards. Poor Mary--she really has the best heart, and the most sincere intentions in the entire family, but those good intentions sometimes miss the mark. 

And so yes, Grant, no matter what your mom says...there really IS a Santa Claus. And he's not dead!

Dear Santa...

In years past, I've helped Mark write his letter to Santa. This year, he didn't need any help or encouragement; the kid was on it. He made sure his letter got to Santa on time (it hasn't always).

I was glad to see that he'd learned from my prior etiquette lessons.

"You have write a real letter," I'd told him. "It has to be a conversation, with give and take, with questions and observations. You can't just write a gimme-gimme-gimme letter."

He didn't understand that at 5, but he does now. At 12, he realizes it's not cool to just send Santa a list of demands.

Mark was also concerned about some of his friends--specifically, his friend Ty, who's Jewish.

"Ty's getting ripped off," Mark said, admitting later that Ty does get presents for 8 nights during Hannukah, which is pretty cool. But he couldn't figure out how Santa knew to skip Ty's house.

"That's easy," I said. "Jewish kids don't write him letters."

"Not all kids write to Santa," Mark argued.

"You sure about that?" I asked. "You gonna take that chance?"

"No," Mark answered without hesitation.

And so, as in years past, Mark wrote his letter. I'm pretty sure he doesn't believe anymore, but he doesn't want to chance it. Because, you know...what if he really does exist, and Mark didn't say "S'up"?

I read Mark's letter, and was totally cracking up inside. It was so funny I even ignored all the misspelled words, right up until the very end. There it was, right next to the picture of Mark and his cousins, with Nathalie screaming about her favorite boy band, One Direction.

"Seriously?" I screeched, pointing at his signature. "You spelled your own name wrong?"

"No, I didn't," Mark scoffed. Then he looked a little closer, and said, "It's my middle name, that doesn't count!"

I guess not. The letter was funny and had lots of questions. I was willing to overlook a misspelling, and congratulated him on a job well done.

And best of all, he only asked for three things--a new phone with a text keyboard, a hat, and a beanie with a beard and mustache attached.

I think Mark Danil might get what he asked for this year...

Every Breath You Take, Christmas Edition

 A recent holiday-themed conversation in my house...

  

Mark: "Santa's kind of a stalker..."

Me: "Wait, what? Whoa!"

Mark: "He IS. Come on, who else watches you when you sleep? And why is he watching all us kids anyway?"

Me: "So he knows if you've been good or bad." 

Mark: Silence. Then, raises his eyebrows.

Me: "He's not a stalker."

Mark: "I'm just saying...he watches me all the time to know if I've been good or bad, he watches me when I sleep, he sneaks into my house to eat my cookies and milk."

Me: "Well, when you put it like that..."

And so I had to concede that Mark had a point. Santa does leave presents, but now the idea of a jolly old man watching me all the time kinda creeps me out a bit. 

Thank you, Mark, for keeping the Christmas love alive!

No wonder he's not impressed

I was researching things to do in Fairbanks during our upcoming Alaska trip, and came across this gem:

Santa Claus House
101 St. Nicholas Drive, North Pole, AK 99705
Unique theme shop w/gifts, apparel, ornaments & Original Letter from Santa!

Turns out the North Pole is a scant 20 minutes away from downtown Fairbanks -- we can actually visit the Jolly Old Elf himself at home!

Oh my goodness, I was beside myself with joy. A chance to visit Santa at the North Pole -- what could be better than that?

I shared the exciting news with Mark as soon as I got home. I knew he wouldn't be outwardly excited, because 9-year-olds do not believe in Santa. (Not when their friends are around, anyway -- but ask any kid right before bedtime on Christmas Eve if they believe, and you'll get a positive response. Even 9-year-olds are smart enough to believe the night before!!)

But Mark's response surprised me. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said casually, "I've already been there."

This stopped me in my tracks! "What do you mean?" I asked. "You've already been to the North Pole?"

He nodded. "My parents took me there when I was a baby."

I could sense a good story coming on. I prodded him for more info.

"Really?" I asked. "What was it like?"

"It had a big red and white striped pole," he answered. "And there was snow everywhere."

"What else?" I asked.

"You know, lots of elves," he said. "And some reindeer."

"So cool!" I exclaimed. "What were they like?"

"I don't remember," he said. "I was just a little baby!"

"Huh," I said, scratching my head. "Well, then you can show me around, because I've never been there. I've only seen the North Pole on T.V."

But he was tired of this story already. "I told you, I was just a little baby!" he said. "I probably won't remember any of it!"

And so, in just a few short weeks, I will be visiting Santa and the North Pole for the first time in my life. And Mark will be returning for his second triumphant visit.

I wonder if Santa will remember him? ;-)