We've been trying to explain this Santa concept to you, and nothing really catches except for the bit about presents. Presents resonates with you. Presents define you. Presents are your essence. You quickly decided that of all the things in the whole wide world that you could ask for - a pony, a dancing monkey, that elusive gum we never let you have - that you would ask for trains. TRAINS? I was so shocked to hear this. You mean that thing you constantly talk about? Exult? Covet? Oh, THAT train. My hopes of having Barbies in the house were once again wiped out.
We've been trying to slowly work you up towards seeing Santa this year. Last year, well, you mostly just cried as soon as you realized he was holding you. But this year we got onto Mission Tolerate Santa a lot sooner. As we happened past his reindeer-laden lair at the mall, we'd casually mention, "Oh, there is Santa. Seems like a pretty nice guy, hey?" You'd feign interest for a few moments, but then begin to fixate on the giant rotating trees. Understandably. After all our efforts to ready you for Santa, you finally had the chance to see him at your preschool party. Kids were excited and happy and singing. You were pretty happy until he walked three feet in front of you. Then the reality of voluntarily conversing with a chubby, slightly sweaty man with overgrown facial hair set in. You finally, finally got up the courage to sit on his lap after almost all the other kids had done so. When you did, you sat very purposefully at the very edge of his knee should you need to suddenly spring off to protect yourself from his...niceness? Gift giving? Candy canes? I don't know. Regardless, without looking at him even once, you quickly mumbled "I want trains for Christmas" and then leaped off. Hey, at least it's progress!
The night before Christmas we laid out cookies and milk for Santa, and I wasn't sure how you would react to the idea of THAT MAN coming into your house while you were sleeping. Apparently, what concerned you most was that he was eating the last of your sugar cookies. Dude, I get it. I'm a nasty wreck when I figure out your dad has eaten my Mesquite BBQ Kettle Chips. You were stupefied the next morning when they were gone, but quickly became far too distracted by the massive presents under the tree for you. I'm not sure how Santa managed to bring a train village large enough to cover Tijuana and 347 train engines for you, but that man deserves a prize.
You have come to enjoy singing and this year have really latched on to certain Christmas carols. Jingle Bells has easily become your favorite. And what I like is that you don't feel the need to learn any other words to the song other than those two. You just repeat them over and over to the tune, often times at around 6:03AM and often at the top of your voice. You also like to demand your dad and I sing you a particular song like some dictatorial little king of carol requests.
"Sing snowman song!"
We've quickly realized that:
a) We don't know the words to the vast majority of carols
b) You don't either
c) We can make it up
"He traveled through the streets of town...and didn't want to stop...and then gave a broomstick to the cop...Jingle Bells, hey."
Until this year, I didn't really get it when people said how the holidays become so different when you have children. But to watch your amazement as we drive past homes with their Christmas lights on or see you brim with excitement as you talk about each of the ornaments on the tree, I now get it. It is a magical time, Jack. A time when the world slows down, appreciates a snow fall on a cold night and drinks hot chocolate just because it feels nice. I love that I get to revel in those moments with you and make new memories for our little family. That is my Christmas blessing.
Love,
Your Momma
