Santa Sucks

I have mentioned before that I was more than a bit frightened when it dawned on me that my husband and I were now responsible for the childhood Christmas memories of three people. It also occurred to me recently that one of the surest signs you have become a grownup is when you are no longer particularly concerned about what is inside your own packages, but you can hardly wait for their children to open theirs. There's nothing quite like knowing your child has been longing for one special toy and being able to finally give it to them. I always try to be mindful of the fact that we are so blessed to be able to grant our children's Christmas wishes when there are so many parents out there who cannot. My own mother shared with me that one Christmas many years ago, when my grandfather was stationed in Germany, she was certain she and her siblings wouldn't have gotten anything for Christmas if it hadn't been for the Salvation Army. To this day I make it a point to donate whenever possible to such a worthy cause.
Not long ago, one of my girls asked me how many days were left until Christmas. "Seven. Why?" "Yay! Almost the time of year to find out whether we get coal or not!" Then her sister informed me that she didn't "really care if I get coal or not. I mean, we can paint it, or build a fire with it!" I think they were scared. Consequently, I also learned this from Savannah: If you are on the naughty list, you get coal in your stocking and underwear under the tree! I will have to remember that one, because one year I'm totally wrapping underwear and hiding all the other gifts! Better wait until they are a little older, but I can't wait to do this one!
I am happy to say no one received coal or underwear. As usual, Christmas morning at our house was filled with squeals of delight and more than one negotiation over who gets which color this or that. I have to say that this year I was pretty impressed. My six year olds were able to hold incredibly diplomatic peace talks which ended with everyone getting what they wanted, which in this case was the appropriate pair of unicorn house shoes and character themed night lights. I will forever refer to this year as the "As Seen on TV" Christmas. Every single toy my kids asked for was a direct result of who spent the most money advertising on the Disney Channel. We bought Stuffies, Stompeez, Dream Lights, Moxie Girls, and Moxie Girl Mermaids all simply because they monopolized the airwaves between Disney shows for two solid months leading up to Christmas.
The baby has entered a wonderful phase of life, the two year old year, in which the prevailing mindset is, "Everything in this house is mine. If it's yours, it's now mine. If I want it, it's mine." That very thinking landed her in time out not once, but twice on Christmas Day. Sorry, little one. Allowing you to club your sister in the head because she won't give up something belonging to her is something I just won't do. Even if you are stinking cute.
Oddly enough, it was truth in advertising (or lack thereof) which led to my girls learning a very important lesson this year. After their bath last night, I said, "Well, girls, were the Moxie Girls all you thought they would be? Do you just love them?" One of them looked at me very seriously and said, "Well, Mom, not really. On the commercial, these girls just spin around all by themselves and the kids aren't even touching them! These do NOT do that!" Ah, yes, my babies. An important lesson indeed. As seen on TV doesn't always mean as seen in real life. If it did, we would all look like Cindy Crawford and prepare delicious gourmet meals in under fifteen minutes, just like the infomercials said we could. I couldn't help but think of poor Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" and his Little Orphan Annie decoder pin!
More importantly, Santa goofed up this year. Truthfully, I felt like we had done pretty well up until this point. But this year, Mommy brain got the better of me. I think. Several weeks ago, I loaded a cart with wonderful little stocking stuffers - candy, suckers, candy canes...the works. No oranges or underwear here! I then brought them home, stuffed them in a WalMart bag, and hid them. Well. So well, in fact, that they've never been heard from again. I have looked from one end of this house to the other, more than once, and I still have no earthly idea where the bag is. Yep, I admit it. I hid it so well that I hid it from myself. Talk about feeling like a sucky Santa.
After ridiculing me in only the nicest way for losing my stocking stuffers, my husband sighed and said, "Do you need me to go to town?" Keeping in mind it was 10:30 PM on Christmas Eve, I said, "Nope, I've got it under control." And so, in the interest of full disclosure, I worked with what I had. Leftover goody bags from the girls' birthday party, school Christmas party bags, unopened Halloween Skittles, and my recently purchased Peeps hoard were all pressed into service. And so, not in the manner I would have liked, but the stockings were indeed stuffed. What can I tell you, girls? Santa sucks. But she sure does love you! Enough to give up my Peeps...and that's saying something! :)