P, admiring the Rockefeller Tree on Solstice.
The fate of the ficus was determined. The child chose the magic. And E and I followed suit, per instructions.
This did not, however, mean we donned red suits or beards. Or specifically said, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause. Nor did we listen for sleigh bells and leave out cookies (although the hypoglycemic mister may have appreciated that particular slight of sleigh.) The Little Man had no expectations, no knowledge of these traditions, so that cat stayed in the proverbial red velvet bag for one more year. We did, however, produce some proof. A present was placed under the ficus, signed by a Mr. C....
P has long dreamed of an electric train like he's seen at the holiday shows (indeed, he has painted and re-sculpted trains he already has to create something closer to his dream steam engine). The completely realistic tracks and the great black engines that whiz through mountain passes are unarguably dreamy. He specifically asked Santa for such a gift. I have researched these to no end. Sets garner glowing reviews from thrilled parents, mixed with the tentative thoughts of first timers with five year olds. Inevitably, they go something like this, "My five year old is as equally responsible as he is obsessed with trains. He has amazing dexterity and can focus for four hours. We just knew he was ready for this Polar Express set regardless of the over 8 age recommendation....Despite his attempts to be delicate, our darling destroyed multiple pieces before day's end... Buyer Beware."
Seriously, every review for the under 10 crowd said the same thing. And I've watched P, first hand, with the one's my brothers played with decades ago. Its not pretty, even when he's trying really hard to be careful. The shit's just breakable.
But his dream of a Polar Express train going around a glowing Christmas tree (er, goth ficus) didn't have to be entirely foiled. I found a wooden set that would join his present Brio collection with an adorable (and hardy) steam engine to boot. It even came with a sleigh bell, supposedly from Santa's very own sleigh. Thus, the plan for proof was hatched.
The child stayed up late, playing Santa himself. (Having now been around enough to know that there is such a thing as "presents piled high", the Little Man looked upon our sparsely laid under-boughs (Sparse because, seriously, every month is "Christmas" for this kid! I'm not going to restrict dreams and wishes to a commercialized bastardization of someone else's religion and then pile on the goods) and took it upon himself to right this apparently incongruous wrong. It wasn't that he showed any hint of expecting or personally wanting more, it seemed he merely thought our picture didn't match the picture society has shown him. So he corrected this by packing favorite toys into packages and labeling them. The outside of his gift labels featured "J"'s or "E"'s and the inside, a sly "S." ) Post present making, he turned in for a very short night's sleep...
Meanwhile, a little mid-night magic later and we were hopeful the ficus wouldn't disappoint. This was a hard decision for me though. I knew what it meant to set something new under that tree. But I kept going back to the first item on his Christmas list: "I hope you're real, Santa." I finally decided that this magic he wanted so badly, was a gift in itself, and one I thought I could give. Thus, the train encircled ficus come morning time...
The child awoke too early and too excited to possibly wait another minute. Yet he greeted us so sweetly with a whispered "Merry Christmas, Papa, Merry Christmas, Mama. Would you mind getting up? I'm ready to get up.") Upon seeing the tree, he was a bit overwhelmed, the magic manifest, staying just far enough away from his new Polar Express that, had I not seen the same reaction every gift giving holiday of his life, I would have worried we'd underwhelmed rather than over :) He quickly turned things around by handing out gifts to E and I, beaming. Then he turned back to the item in question, kneeling down for a closer look.
And then the questions really began. Who was it from? Did Santa really put it there? Could I hear the bell? Could Papa hear the bell? The first two were pretty simple, we'd let his imagination and desire form the answers. He so wanted to believe that the "What do you think, P?" that usually doesn't do diddly, was actually enough. The last proved trickier. Supposedly, only those that truly believe (in Santa) can hear the bell. If we answered "yes," it could simply mean that both our ears and the bell were in working order. Or, in his state of hope, we could be saying "yes," that we believed. Likewise, "no" could either mean we don't believe in magic anymore, or that the bell really is magical but our lack of belief means "no," we can't hear it ( a strict division between child and adult illustrated in the movie version of the book, as in many movies (which is why we all love Totoro so much!!!)). Without realizing the weight of my response, I automatically answered yes, since I could hear the bell and was bound and determined to support his dream sans lie. E surprised me by playing along beautifully and answering "no."
Slowly, he pushed his train around its tracks, noting each exciting detail. Then he moved on to his gifts from family (thanks again, family!) and as he returned to his steam engine, I moved to the kitchen to start breakfast. As he studied his proof, he chatted with Froggy, describing all the details. And then... he noticed one more detail. "Mama! MAMA!....... I think Santa bought my present at a store."
Uh-oh. The kid really hasn't been regaled with Santa stories, but he has heard there is a workshop with elves... "Really?" I asked innocently as I walked towards him. "Yah, um, Mama, look here."
And he pointed to the inside of the mountain the train can pass through to the the tiny, backwards "R," surrounded by a tell tale star, slightly raised in its plastic glory. I had so wanted to (as everyone eventually recommended - thanks for the thoughts!) give him space for his magic (of which we'd already "deprived" him for the last 5 years ;) that this Santa themed gift bought from a big box store wooed my in. Typically, I do my best to merge his wishes with earth friendly enterprises, but there are no small artisans sculpting renewably harvested Polar Express trains... so, it was the Toy's R Us internet deal for Santa this year ;) And dammit all if the kid hadn't figured it out. Elves shmelves.
It was at this moment that I realized how vested I felt in fulfilling his need for magic. He's such a logical kid. I remember changing his diaper before he was 2 and he was saying the cow in the book he was chewing on wasn't a real cow. A highly comical version of Magritte doing "Ceci n'est pas une vache" popped into my head and I laughed at an almost two year old having such an issue :)
So I stood there, looking at the logo, mouth moving silently, trying to remember the save all phrase with which my mother had armed me. Froggy thought faster. "Doesn't Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer start with an "R," Phoenix?" Unfortunately, Phoenix doesn't know who Rudolph is, so this didn't help matters any. My mind finally clicked onto my mom's phrase and I smiled. "Its a magical time, P," I weakly quipped and then I turned on my heels and ran back to my eggs. I could vaguely hear Froggy and P chatting further, but the cooking noises drown out the particulars. I heard lots of questions, repeating in endless iterations of the only one that seemed to matter. Do you believe in Santa? Is Santa real? Is this really from Santa? I heard Froggy talking about Frog Santa. Nevertheless, I thought we were safe.
And then an hour later he erupted with a "Mama! I found another clue!" Jeez, I hadn't even actually lied yet and that damn snowball was still rolling out of control. P met me at the table, waving a piece of train track. "This," he said dramatically, "is a piece of Thomas the Train track. NOT, the same as the rest of the set." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. I should have just done an equally dramatic "hmmm" and seen where his dreams led us, but that vested interest thing mixed noxiously with my inexperience at the lying (and determination to avoid specifically lying) thing and produced the tell tale shifty eyes blathering thing. "Well, the train tracks probably didn't fit around the tree and table the way it was imagined... and there was extra track just sitting here to make it all match up, so, um, it probably seemed like a good idea to make the track line up and, um, uh..." The child silently narrowed his eyes and nodded.
I dunno, but if the kid isn't set on it, next year we're further expanding our cultural studies and doing Hanukkah or expanding Solstice. This Santa shit is triiiiiicky.
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