Mom, Is Santa Real?

"You smell like beef and cheese, you don't smell like Santa." ~ Buddy the Elf

All parents dread the question..."Is Santa real?" How do we answer that? What do we say to keep our children young at heart without sounding jaded or cruel? How do we keep ourselves young at heart?
As parents we have such a short window of time that I like to call the Magic Years at Christmas. Those precious years between children being absolutely terrified of Santa, and when they start suspiciously checking out the name tags and trying to compare Santa's handwriting to your own. Those wonderful years that they just love to believe.
I found this picture of me and Santa in 1971, when I wasn't quite two years old. Obviously the Magic Years hadn't started yet. I have a feeling Santa probably had a wet lap and smelled like toddler pee shortly after this photo was taken.

And to be honest, I have a picture of each of my four children, all shrieking in fear from Santa at various times in their lives.
"Perfect!" I'd tell the nervous photographer, as she hesitantly clicked away on her camera. "Make sure you get her picture with her mouth open, terrified like that..." I'm sure my kids will thank me for those funny pictures years from now.
I can remember when my oldest daughter Frankie was about 3 years old, and she was just slowly transitioning from the scared-of-Santa to the absolutely-love-Santa phase. We were tucking her in bed on Christmas Eve and made the mistake of saying something along the lines of, "... and if you feel a kiss on your forehead when you're sleeping or hear a noise later tonight, don't worry. It's just Santa."
She looked at us, completely petrified.
"I don't want Santa in my room kissing my face or being in my house! I wanna sleep with you guys!!!"
When it came to the rest of our kids, we made sure to make Santa sound a little more wonderful and a little less creepy, cat-burglar like.
I love those years of being awake on Christmas morning and lying in bed, hearing the kids wake up and exclaim, "Oh my gosh, Santa came!" I would just lie there and smile.
One year the kids were still a little afraid of actually seeing Santa, so they did the army crawl down the hallway into our room and then breathlessly piled into bed. "Um, we were too scared to look into the living room in case he was still there, but yeah... can you go check to see if Santa came?"
Christmas is one of the absolute best times in the world to be a parent. It's like the universe's way of equalizing out the fact we have to deal with teenage angst, potty training and temper tantrums. It makes up for the times we have to wash markers off the walls, unclog the toilet because someone shoved toys down there, and catch their barf in your hands. Watching their faces and hearing their voices on Christmas makes all of the other stuff just disappear. At least for that morning.
Last year my youngest child was in the back seat as we were driving, and he was listing off all the toys he was going to ask Santa for that Christmas. I started to get a little nervous (having been out of work for over half the year) and tried to get him to scale down his list.
"Don't worry, Mom," Wyatt assured me. "Santa doesn't have a budget, so you don't even have to worry about it!"
Ahhhh.... I would really love to have Santa's financial peace of mind during Christmas. It would make things so much easier, don't you think?
This year my children's ages run from 7 to 14. The youngest two, 7 and 9, vacillate between questioning me about Santa's existence and assuring me they still believe. I know they're hedging their bets.
I don't blame them.
When they asked me about it the other night, "Mom, is Santa real?" I took a deep breath and told them the truth.
"I'll tell you what, kiddos. As your Mom, I just love believing in Santa. It makes Christmas so much more fun and wonderful, don't you think?"
They nodded furiously in agreement, and I smiled.
Dear Universe...Just give me another year or two of these Magic Years. That's all I ask. And that would be the best Christmas present ever.

Thanksgiving Gratitude

"Thanksgiving, man. Not a good day to be my pants." - Kevin James

With so much negativity in the media, and so many doomsday announcers out there, I'd like to take this opportunity to proclaim what I'm truly thankful for this year.
First and foremost, I'm grateful for my children and everything they bring into my life.
I'm thankful...
~ They still occasionally bring me breakfast in bed, which consists of a bowl of Cap'n Crunch on a pizza tray
~ No teeth have been broken this school year so far
~ Once in awhile, maybe when they're barely recognizing it, they will still hold my hand when we cross a street
~ They will still kiss me when I drop them off at school in the morning
~ My bed is the first place they scamper to when they've had a nightmare
~ Once in awhile, I still get called Mommy
~ They watch TV shows with me at night, and let me play with their hair
~ They're not afraid to yell out "I love you!" in public
~ Even if they fight like cats and dogs, they're also fiercely loyal to each other, and not afraid to beg for clemency when they feel I'm being unfair to one of their siblings
~ They notice when I wear perfume
~ They get excited when I get new shoes
I am also very grateful for my family.
I'm thankful...
~ I have a mother that always seems to know that when my work day is running long, the most wonderful thing she can do is make dinner and feed the kids
~ I have a dad who still fills my gas tank up once in awhile and checks the air in my tires
~ I have a brother who is always there for me, and laughs at the same ridiculous stories over and over again
~ I have cousins who are like sisters to me, and guard my secrets close
~ I have aunts who cheer like a parent and step back when I bare my teeth
And also, so very, very grateful to my friends.
I'm thankful...
~ They are quick to pick my kids up and drop them off at their activities when I'm running late. Because yes, it truly takes a village.
~ They accept my faults and my quirks and my outbursts and my tantrums. And love me anyway.
~ They recognize that true friends can go months without seeing or talking to each other, and we can pick up right where we left off.
~ They don't gloat (in front of me anyway) when the Vikings lose another game.

So you can see, I'm not only thankful for the big things I've been blessed with, but also the little things. I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes:

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.  ~Robert Brault

The Nervous Trepidation of School Conferences

Walking into my kids' school conferences for me is like walking into a dentist appointment. I truly hope for the best, but mentally brace myself for the worst. It's always a crap shoot; I can never get too cocky. Sometimes I think that one of my kids is doing extremely well and I get blindsided with news.
"Yes, um, your daughter threw corn at the lunch lady."
Really? Fantastic. How do you convey to the teacher that you don't condone vegetable tossing in your own home in just a 20 minute meeting with the teacher? Sometimes I feel like a public defender when I hear news like that.
I sigh deeply, lean forward and look the teacher in the eye. "Your Honor, I would like to go on record and state that while my client fully acknowledges inappropriate behavior in the past, she categorically denies assaulting anyone with canned corn."
Last night I went to conferences for both my 9 year old daughter and my 7 year old son. I put a smile on my face and walked into the classroom and took a seat in one of those tiny, little chairs that are unbelievably uncomfortable. Who likes to sit there for 20 minutes with your butt cheeks hanging over each side of the chair? Only an Olsen twin could comfortably sit on one of those.
And over the years I've gotten very good at deciphering "teacher code" and what they're actually trying to tell me without using certain words.
For instance, last night I was told: "Chloe is very social and precocious."
(i.e., she talks non-stop and sometimes exhibits inappropriate, grown up behavior)
I also heard, "Boy, your son is full of energy. I wish I could bottle it up for myself sometimes (nervous laugh)."
(i.e., he often runs around like a fool with his head cut off and the teacher has a hard time preventing him from colliding into a drinking fountain when he runs down the hall)
When I hear news like this, I realize my kids can be a handful. My mom will remind me of what it was like when my brother was in school.
"I was at the high school so much meeting with the principal that one time the school secretary asked if I was the new substitute teacher. And one time he was serving detention in high school and I got a note from the teacher saying that your brother was corking off and passed gas three times in there, making everyone else laugh."
See, the genetic trait of misbehaving to get a laugh must be in our family's DNA. I wasn't the best behaved child either. I was always a little impatient. One time in 5th grade I called my teacher at home and asked, "Mrs Wolf, can we rearrange our desks tomorrow? I'm sick of sitting where I do."
And for the record, last night's conferences weren't all bad news. Thankfully neither teacher informed me that my child liked to fart, do the fist pump and high-five their classmates. My kids have definitely had their challenges in the behavior department, but luckily no guidance counselor had to sit in on the meeting (which has happened before).
So for now, I will do a silent prayer of gratitude that my children don't need to come up with an Action Plan. I will be thankful that no one has found it acceptable to throw food at the lunch lady.
I will be happy that no one got into a physical hitting/kicking/slapping match with another child at recess.
I will be grateful that no one pulled their pants down in line at lunch, pointed to their butt and yelled to the other students in the cafeteria "Hey everyone, check it out!"
And yes, all of these things have happened before.
I am grateful that for now, nothing has been happening.
Because as parents we all know that can change in the blink of an eye.