Last year, I wrote about how in our family, Santa is real. Santa is grace.
In our home, the tale of Santa is not a lie. It is magic and make-believe and hope, all the things we wish to instill in our child. Wide-eyes at twinkling lights and soft stockings hung on the mantle & cookies on a plate. Santa is purity of heart, goodness prevailing. The belief in Santa is the same as the innocence that Superman can fly, that mermaids swim in the ocean, and that Momma’s kiss takes away a boo-boo. It is not deception, but child-like faith.
Last year was about defining Santa in our family, but this year, it’s about celebrating Santa. Harrison is old enough to comprehend Santa on a very basic level, he’s not quite there with Rudolph & the Naughty n’ Nice list, but he is totally down with Santa Claus bringing him presents. So I thought we’d have a little fun this year and signed up for a “phone call from Santa” through my office. I filled in a questionaire about what we were proud of, what he needed to work on (I left that blank), who his teachers are and what Harrison is into interest-wise.
Last night, the phone rang at 6:30pm.
I put the call on speakerphone and “HO! HO! HO!” came through the phone. Harrison’s eyes lit up and he said, “Santa? Hi, Santa!”
Santa asked him about preschool and his teachers and told him how proud he was for his speech development. Harrison told him that he wanted Mater Monster Trucks and then started chattering about his Christmas tree and Santa could barely get a word in to tell him to keep being a nice boy. When they finally hung up, we immediately called my husband (who was out) and Harrison blurted, “SANTA CALLED ME AND I TOLD HIM I WANTED A BIG TRUCK WITH TWO WHEELS.”
Yep, that is magical.
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