I get words stuck in my brain like broke-down news crawl. The most recent, "partridge in a pine tree", is an example of that. Sometimes I save those little things (never the liver, tiny and enormous), and sometimes I let them go. I never think they mean anything other than that I love the way words sound. But today, while sneaking a smoke during a dinner with old friends, those partridge words played again and it suddenly seemed to make... um... sense?
I see pine out my back door and a bunch of little chicks inside. Christmas carols are playing, so... Anyone could screw those lyrics up -- partridge in a pine tree -- but my mistakes stick in my craw like a message.
There is a partridge seated in a pine tree. In my pine tree as a matter of fact, and I can see its pointy beak and its beady partridge eyes -- they stare straight at ME. And like the raven warned Poe, and like Dylan sang about the bird at his window with a broken wing, I know this partridge thing means something too: there is a non-believer in my home.
Shudder.
I was in fourth grade, like Bridget, when my grand father said to me "you don't believe in Santa any more do you" and then he gave me a nickel. I have no idea what that nickel was all about, but maybe my stunned silence had something to do with it: a quick reaction to alleviate pain?The truth was that I didn't believe in Santa Claus in 4th grade, but I wanted to and as the youngest, I was prepared to keep "believing" to keep it going. I might have done that until I got married and moved away so in retrospect my grandfather probably saved me from a lifetime of weirdness. Thanks Poppy.
Bridget said today that Chinese kids get the most presents because most toys are made there. She looked at me, eyebrows raised like that red-headed dude on CSI, and I lied, like I'm supposed to, and said, "oh.my.god.bridget. Santa can only make SO much; everybody outsources" and she looked back at me -- are you serious? and also what does outsource mean? and also, whatever mom.
And then, I swear, she added a wink-wink.
My heart sunk.
She lies when she says she believes and I know she is lying. Secretly, I wink back, but I don't show what I know. I think this year will be the last dance of make believe we do, me and her.
She is the tiny first baby I loved, the kid who let me be Santa in the first place, and I am so so sorry for this, but I cry sometimes because she's growing up -- which I know is my goal as a parent -- but it hurts and sucks to lose your bearded magic and your ho ho ho. And this is the first time it has ever happened to me.
And I know it will not be the last.
She will play the part; I will too. Santa Claus will come and when he does, I hope she finds five minutes to doubt her doubters and believe. I know she will do it for her brother and sister.
But if she can't do it for herself anymore, I hope she will believe that there is something even better: we love her just as much as Santa does.
20commentsBrilliant Person Wrote...
Awww, Ms P, I teared up reading this. I already have two non-believers in the house, and the last one I'm sure is hanging on by a thread...I hope I can squeeze two more years out of the magic. Hugs to you mom.
.sniffle. Beautifully written.
But it's a funny game we play, isn't it? It's brimming with inevitable disappointment in some ways.
It's like owning the world's greatest dog, who will most certainly die before the rest of you, and leave you all heartbroken.
But, all the years of slobbery kisses and frisbee were worth the weeping when he is gone, right? Right?
Hmmmnnn... I have to tell you, I'm on the fence about this Santa game, but it's waaaay too late to do anything about it. This dog can't go back to the pound.
Merry Christmas, and hug your kids extra hard. They KNOW you love 'em!
My house is now empty of believers. The ten-year old held out for a few years, not really knowing for sure. And it is a sad thing, this transition. I remember a few years ago noting to my spouse that it was probably the last year we'd have all three believing.
But since then, I've been busy replaying the original Grinch movie with the message: Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, he thought, means a little bit more.
I'm big on brainwashing that way.
Happy Holidays!
We're on the other end of the spectrum, as we just finished getting everyone here properly indoctrinated in Santa...
I'm thinking I've got at least 1-2 more years before Santagnosticism sets in.
I feel the day is near for me, too. Especially when the Things get stiffed on the dog and turtles tomorrow.
Merry Christmas, Ms. P. Enjoy your elves.
My oldest is very pragmatic and will probably be all "seriously? who cares who fills the stockings - as long as they're filled and there's piles-o-loot under yonder tree?" And we can believe in Santa together.
This makes me a little teary-eyed! My 11 year old is on a cusp where I think he might not believe, but he's so wrapped up in the possibility that it's true, that he still (just a second...he's over my shoulder...) wants to do the whole cookies and milk thing, write a letter, and track Santa on the computer. I think my heart will be broken when the year arrives when he firmly states he's done with the Santa gig.
I do wish you and your family a fantastic Christmas together!
I cannot decide whether to cry because you've just made me realize our days are numbered (Goat #1 is almost 7) or giggle at "Santagnosticism."
Is it better to figure it out on your own as a kid or to be so old and still such a believer that your parents have to sit you down and "have the talk"?
At least you squeeked this one out.
Sniffle. I was grown and married before my family ever talked about Santa perhaps not being real. My boys "know" but my 11 year old still believes hook, line and sinker. It's sweet that the boys work hard not to spoil it for her. They even printed out a personalized letter to her from Santa! WTF?
It's so hard to watch them grow up, isn't it?
First, I had a "Poppy" too! It really struck me to see that name in this blog. There aren't that many Poppies in the world.
Second, when Eldest became an unbeliever, I explained that there really is a Santa. SHE is Santa and I am Santa and the dude in the red suit in the mall is Santa...we are ALL Santa. And we must believe and make Santa true for everyone else. She loved that and still loves it. She IS Santa. And so will Bridget be.
ho ho ho
Aww crap. That broke my heart. Hey listen though, at least she's not standing up to her entire third grade class shouting, "You're all wrong! Every last one of you!"
Yep. That's what I did. Very embarrassing.
Maybe it call all be about how wonderful it is to have a mom like you who believes, believes, believes in having a great imagination. I hope so.
Aww Ms. P... hugs to you. It's like being on borrowed time, isn't it? I think we only have maybe one more year left before the magic of Santa wears off.
P.S. Is it wrong that I think there is something sexy in a creepy sort of way about David Caruso (the red-headed CSI guy)???
Speaking of Santa and gifts and all, I left you a little something on my blog--no not the Beatle glasses. I don't know if you're into that sort of thing, but you deserve the shout out.
Cheers!
We've been visiting with family here in NY and my 5 year old has barely even acknowledged my existence. She doesn't need me to feed her, change her diaper, dress her and in some ways it makes me very sad but like you, I know it's a good sign and my job as a good parent to teach her these things and yet, sometimes I wish she did need me more. Your daughter sounds like a great kid.
Hope you had a great holiday.
I always said I would never do the "Santa thing" but c'mon, am I gonna burst a 5 year old's bubble? I had to shush the hubs fifteen times talking about "when daddy, err, Santa, was setting up the dollhouse."
Did you know that even when I don't comment I am here reading every damn word?
Desperately cleaving to these days of Santa, I read your post with sadness and awe for what comes next.
Your such a good mommy!
I was the total dork who believed in Santa until um, oh, at least 5th grade. And, of course I believed to the point where I actually got in an argument with my friends about it all...as they laughed at me.
Is it any wonder that I was the last one to get my period too? Late bloomer.
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