We’ve been off doing a few Christmas related things lately – making Christmas lists, visiting Santa and wrapping gifts to send in the mail to family and friends. Throughout it all, Franklin seems to be a little… cynical.
I don’t know when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. I certainly don’t have a memory of being cynical about the whole thing and wondering why my parents were putting up a charade. I didn’t have friends who broke the news to me or teased me that I still believed. There is a family story that I decided to enlighten my Catechism class one Sunday and made everyone cry. I have no real memory of saying this specifically but I do remember standing up in class and saying something that made my teacher look pretty tired.
But that could have been about anything.
I think there are questions this year though. I think he’s on to us. This evening I pulled out some gift wrap I didn’t know I had and proceeded to wrap a gift for my nephew. Merrily I go, thanking Franklin for picking out such a wonderful gift, passing the tape to Eliza so she could “HELP!” and thanking Solstice that we are now done the Christmas shopping save for my brother’s gift that will not be available until the new year and who lives in Switzerland and so would never get it on time anyway.
As an aside, have you ever tried to mail something to Geneva?
Holy shipping costs, batman! It’s like I’m trying to send Flat Stanley or something.
Anyways, yes. I’m merry and happy and congratulating myself on doing all my window shopping online, comparing prices and making decisions from the comfort of my dining room table, calling ahead, reserving the gift and dashing in and out of the store. This is my perfect way to shop. I would do this for my grocery shopping too if it was at all practical.
But then Franklin takes a closer look at the wrapping paper I’m using. The one I chose last year to only wrap certain gifts with – the gifts from Santa. I forgot about that. In fact, I think I have probably forgotten about that every single year but it only this year that he noticed anything.
I had nothing to say but that we have so many kinds of wrapping paper (we don’t) and that it’s always hard to tell one kind from another (it’s not) and that I wasn’t really sure it was the same because wouldn’t that be impossible?!?
Then he gave me a little half smile / half look of confusion.
I am crushed. Not because he’s growing up and will now become one of the cynical “Santa gives more to rich kids” people because, dude, if that’s what you’re spouting then you’re doing Santa all wrong in your house.
I’m crushed because I can see the confusion and I can see him working it all out and I just want the conversation to happen, already! I want to talk about it but I think he should be the one to bring it up first.
I’m also crushed because this is one of many times that he will look at me and think, “Mom, you are either delirious or full of it.”
Yes darling, I usually am both of those things.
And while we are on the topic, don’t believe anyone who tells you they aren’t.