And More Christmas

Whew! The wrapping is done. That is, all the wrapping except for the gift from *Santa*. I need to get different wrapping paper and a completely different style of bow. You know, to further the myth.

Speaking of which, I ran into a big problem the other week. It's one of those things that is on my mind and aggravates the heck out of me.

It's Santa.

"You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry, you'd better not shout, I'm telling you why;"

That's right. The red-suited old clown who insists on hood-winking young children into behaving. It's actually kinda creepy how "he knows if you are sleeping; he knows if you're awake; he knows if you've been bad or good..." If some old red-velvet clothed dude who sees me when I'm sleeping told me to hop on his lap and offered me candy you'd bet I'd scream and run. Which is probably why this happened:

And then when I asked him to smile, I got this:

The blur is my own fault. I was giggling to hard to hold the camera steady.

Don't misunderstand -- Evan was more than happy to go to see Santa. He asked for it; he wanted to. He couldn't imagine anything better. But when it came time, he froze. I say those are good instincts. Even though we're in public and mommy is right here, if you're uncomfortable, say so.

Afterwards, though, he was unhappy that he forgot to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas.

Which brings me right around to the rest of this: I didn't want him to believe in Santa. From his first Christmas I've explained (because a 9-month-old understands these things) that Santa Claus is a cultural icon, representing the spirit of giving and goodwill, and fabricated around the saint who saved hundreds of children from slavery in the middle ages. In a nutshell. Of course he forgot about it because he mind cannot retain any pertinent information unless it's about one of his hobbies or how mean I am (which is a hobby in itself).

I tried to explain it all again to him this year, however the massive inpouring of cultural specificity regarding this joyous season overwhelmed him and rendered this subject taboo. And, of course, I'm mean for suggesting it.

Also, in a nutshell, he cried.

"There's no Santa?"

"Um, do you want me to lie to you?"

"What?"

"Would you rather I lie to you about Santa and tell you what you want to hear, or do you want the truth?"

"I want you to lie to me."

So that's how it is around here. I think deep down he knows there's no Santa, but for now, he'd like there to be one. And now I'm left holding the bag and supporting the myth.

He wants me to pretend? Okay, I'll pretend! We're going all out: the letter to Santa, the email from Santa, the rules and regulations about behavior and expectations that Santa has of young children, the cookies and milk (or in our case, the cupcakes and juice -- my preference), the cats being Santa's spies on behavior, etc. I'm working it.

"... so be good for goodness sake!"

Trust me, I'm using it completely for my advantage.