Dear Santa

Its that time of year again. And the Christmas books are starring front and center on every bookshelf we pass. Leering, jeering, teasing the Little Man with that Fat Man in the red suit. Oy.

After reading some holiday cheer last year, we had The Big Talk. Was he real, was he not real? P wanted the truth, and nothing but the truth. So I told him the peppermint coated truth about the Spirit of Santa and the Spirit of Giving and Santa's fab life in Storyworld and how lots of Mamas and Papas play Santa in the Real World, blah blah blah. No problem.

But now he's a year older. Everything changes in a year. Except for the bookshelves. So we read some books at the Strand last weekend and they got P to thinkin'. Is Santa really real?

I started with the no brainer, "What do you think, P?" But that's never enough in our house. Me? I think I lived in a fantasy land quite nicely as a child. This one, not so much. But at the end of the weekend, with Santa still on our minds, we cuddled in bed, chatting. He instructed me to leave no presents under our tree (our ficus tree, once forgotten and forlorn, that P rescued off of the street. Our 10 foot ficus that was found some Twenty Blocks from here. Our enormous ficus that almost ruined E's back carrying it up to our flat. The same ficus that seemingly brought the entire neighborhood out to greet us as we schlepped it home atop our wee scooter, in the middle of the street (since its height hit the tree covered sidewalks and ficus trees are notoriously picky about being bonked). Our ficus tree that now features a dino world in its large pot base. The same ficus tree P religiously waters every week, I religiously mist every morning and Danda religiously sleeps under every afternoon. That ficus tree is now decked out as what E deems "gothic Christmas," in blacks and whites and glittery birds. But I'm sure Santa would recognize it as the present bearing place to be....)

At any rate. We are to put nothing below the ficus. Its his little test. If something is below the ficus on xmas, then the LIttle Man will know, beyond a doubt, that Santa escapes storyworld. The other half of this equation is obvious. And I can imagine the LIttle Man's face if enacted upon. So I asked him if he'd be disappointed if the ficus stood alone on this hopeful occasion. Yup. He really, really wants Santa to be real. Great. So I am not to pretend to be Santa, yet the Little Man will be crushed if I do not.

So I asked him a generality. If there was something you wanted to believe in, but it wasn't real, would you want me to pretend it was real with you? I loved his response. "Well, I'd just want it to be real. But, yes, I'd like you to pretend with me."

I'm still not sure where that leaves our ficus in two weeks.

But yesterday, the Little Man sat down to dictate his letter to Santa. Its word for word, except for the occasional sentence I missed while I shook out my aching arm trying to keep up with his fast flying fantasies... In defense of its length, I kinda egged him on to dream big and share anything he was hoping for. Since almost everything is exciting to this five year old, I needed to mine for holiday gift ideas. Stealing from Santa, nice, eh? Anyway, I share it here because I remember so loving to read my youngest brother's (ok, brother in-law, technically:) Jace's Christmas lists:

"Dear Santa,
I hope you're real Santa. My toy list is:

Pogo stick, tons of Hess trucks, lots and lots of stuff for my kitchen, canned foods, boxed foods, ketchup, mustard, every type of food that's existed to fill my whole kitchen up. And I also want a toy sailboat that really works, that has a motor that goes really fast that Frogy, Big BB and Sock Monkey can fit in. And I want it to have sails, those flags that come off the top? But actually, it will be a motor boat. With a remote control.

And can you do one more thing? Can you get me the whole set of G.Stilton books, please, Santa?

Santa, can you get me a really big bottle of lemon mints, the one's I've been eating a lot? I want a new toy airplane of the one that broke yesterday. Some smoothies for my kitchen too. Some cups that fit it. And, Santa, can you come and fix my kitchen? No water comes out of the sink! Can you fix the handles? Turn 'em for the water to come on and off, on and off.

Lots and lots and lots of things for BB's doll house. And please. Get him lots of food. He doesn't have any food for his house!

And Santa, can you do this? A lego set that you can make trains out of that run on real tracks? And can you get me a Polar Express train that runs on tracks that has a switch that turns it on and a tunnel and trees. Lots of trees. And a big white mat to go under it to look like snow? And can you get some snowflakes for my trees, please?

And Santa, I never ever want anyone else to ever, ever die. Ever. No more mummies, no more ghosts. No more dying, ever. And can you get me a swing set too?

And a ton a TON of crystals. But not salt crystals. And can you please do this one more thing? Can you get me lots and lots and lots and lots of money?

Can you, Santa, do this? Please, Santa, oh please, get me a big, big, big Christmas tree? A humongous tree with lots and lots of decorations on it that will last forever. And when it dies it will just plant a new tree in its spot in the house.

Sorry, Santa, I've got to leave, but you can get another list another day. I love you, Santa, do you love me too? Send me a card and write on there if you are real or not. I hope you are real.

Love,
Phoenix."

He didn't really have to leave, there at the end. We were home the rest of the day. Either he realized I was running out of space on the page, or he finally ran out of wants. I'm not sure which :)





By the way: If anyone reading this had a kid with the same conundrum (wanting fantasy to be reality but wanting it to really be real!) shoot me a comment on how you handled it? I'm all ears here...