Silly Mom Thoughts

Some of my most wonderful and warm memories emanate from Christmases past. I remember big things, like going to Nonnie and Papa’s house every year, or the barnyard service my church put on (it was so cool, we were literally in a barn with hay, a manger, and everything). But I remember little things too, like the year I got a blue-eyed, black-haired baby doll wearing a dark blue sailor dress. That same night, while my dad carried me in his arms out of Nonnie and Papa’s house to go home, I glanced in the sky and saw a bright light. I realize now it was just an airplane or a helicopter, but then I believed it was Santa. I remember my dad exclaiming, “Uh oh! Looks like Santa’s already in the area, we’d better get home and get to sleep!” Just the memory of that night makes my heart leap, remembering the anticipation and excitement I felt.

My happy memories are equally inclusive as far as being a Christian and believing in Santa go. I remember those barnyard services, the smell of hay and the crisp winter air biting at my cheeks. I remember the midnight candlelight services when we sang Silent Night and the only light that shone in the room was created by the congregation’s candles. I hold a warm place in my heart for the church Christmas choir concerts, a couple of them I was fortunate to be a part of.

My heart flutters, remembering the feeling of snuggling into my comforters on Christmas Eve and listening intently for Santa’s Sleigh until my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep. I succinctly remember the anticipation of walking down the stairs too early on Christmas morning, and the utter delight upon seeing the presents spilling out beneath the tree, and stockings leaning against the fireplace, stuffed so full they were nearly toppling over. To this day, if I have a piece of chocolate in the morning, it brings back vivid Christmas memories, since that was the only time we were allowed to have chocolate before we ate breakfast. At the same time, I remember the sense of let down when we opened our last gifts, knowing that it would be another year before I got to experience the magic again.

I know what you may be thinking but, no, it wasn’t about the gifts. Don’t get me wrong, my parents gave us some pretty cool stuff that I loved. We weren’t crazy rich, and they didn’t spoil us by most standards, which I am immensely grateful for. But the magic wasn’t about the gifts necessarily, it was about the anticipation, the build-up to the big day.

There was a similar let-down feeling when my parents revealed to us there was no such thing as Santa Clause. I remember it well, and feel slightly guilty about it too. I had my suspicions for a while, and one year decided to let my brother in on those suspicions. He is three years younger than me. I feel as though I took away three years of his Santa-believing innocence.

A short time before Christmas that year, I pointed out that the Santas in our Santa pictures were all different. He countered that of course they were different, everyone knows that it’s Santa’s elves who help out in the malls while he works in the North Pole. Still, it didn’t sit right with me, and my brother didn’t seem convinced either. We sat our mom down for a Santa talk and she revealed that we were correct, there was no such thing as Santa.

Although I knew what she said was true, it was hard to accept. Still, I made my mom promise that they wouldn’t put the presents under the tree until after we were in bed, even though we knew that they weren’t from Santa. One year, she suggested opening all of our presents on Christmas Eve so we could all sleep in on Christmas Day. I wouldn’t have it, even though I was married by this time. This all continued until I was 24, in fact, the last year I was at my parent’s house on Christmas morning. It’s the magic of it all, you see. The magic and anticipation.

Now, I’m in my own house and on Christmas morning Turk and I get to play Santa. Last year, Bug was 2 and for the first time excited about all the aspects of Christmas. I was giddy while Turk and I placed the few presents we could afford under the tree and filled the stockings with a few more items. That night, I slept horribly, the eagerness for Christmas morning to arrive renewed in my heart. It felt much like Christmas Eves as a child when I forced myself to close my eyes and go to sleep so the morning would come even quicker.

This year, thanks to my short story contest winnings, we were able to get even more presents to place under the tree. I cannot wait to see Bug and Bean’s eyes widen when they walk out to our living room, lit only by the lights of the tree, to see their gifts from Santa. My hope is that they will grow up with the same sense of magic for Christmas, a magic that goes much further than shiny paper and bows.