Do you believe in Santa?

You know those kids who never ever go to sleep on Christmas Eve because of the excitement and anticipation of filled stockings and presents on Christmas morning?  I was one of them.  The night was long and painful, and I so envied the children nestled all snug in their bed.  I wanted visions of sugar plums dancing in my head.  You might be interested to know, counting sheep does not work and is actually very hard to do.  Lying super still, ordering myself to sleep, pretending like it's not Christmas, watching the clock, threatening myself, bribing myself, and thinking of something really boring were all futile attempts to solve the problem.

My parents walked an expert line between promoting Santa traditions and telling the truth.  When either of them were asked if there really was a Santa, they replied, "I'm Santa."  In the first place, I knew that it was impossible for them to deliver gifts around the world, and besides they were home with us, and to top it off, my Dad had a job and went to work at the Dental office every day.  So their answer was no help at all.  The magnificent genius came in the great lengths they took to create a Christmas world that Santa definitely came to on the night before Dec. 25.

Their strategy may have been born out of my mother's early discovery of the sad truth.  (You know what it is.  Let's not speak of it more than we have to.)  When she was a very little girl she was looking in her mother's closet in December.  She discovered a package and managed to poke her tiny finger into the corner.  She felt the unmistakable texture of doll hair.  On Christmas morning she opened her present from Santa and realized that the doll in the package was the very same doll she had touched in the closet.  What a disappointing discovery.  It was confirmed every year when the gift tag said, "To Janet From Santa" in her mother's easily recognizable handwriting. My mother did not divulge her knowledge to her mother who sat her down on the bed when she was 10 yrs. old with some sad news.  Her mother was probably surprised when my mom received the news with hardly a care and a little relief.

In the Miller house Santa presents were always wrapped in white tissue paper. Each " to" and " from" was written by someone who wrote with their left hand,  definitely the jolly old elf.  The rule was we couldn't wake up until 6:00 am  Do you know how long it takes to get from 9:00 pm  to 6:00 am?   Excruciating.  When we got up we could look in our stocking and then wake Mom and Dad.  Next  we tore open the gifts from Santa.  We didn't even have to take turns, and my parents were always as surprised as we were.  That's another way I knew they weren't Santa.

Let the opening begin.  Megan, Carrie, Mary, Heidi, Melinda

The older and wiser we got, the trickier they got. I left cookies and milk, of course Santa ate them.  And then came the clincher year.  Mom took a picture of Santa putting presents under the tree...proof.  Undeniable.  When we moved to California and lived in the country there were more and more Santa sightings.  One Christmas Eve, Mom came into our room and said she thought she heard Santa.  Uncontrollable giddiness  unleashed and we rushed to the window.  At the corner of the yard we actually saw, with our own eyes, none other than St. Nick.  There was no sleep to be had that night, but upon reflection I wondered where Dad was during all the excitement.  Guess what happened the next year?  Dad came into our room and told us to look outside.  It was a very effective tradition and one year, I even donned the "suit" and took a walk around the yard.  That left Mom and Dad both in the room with my younger siblings.  What?

I love that they went to such great lengths to be perfect examples of both honesty and fun.  Another concept my parents were sensitive to was the Christmas report at school.  My Dad grew up poor and remembers wondering when he was very young if he didn't get much for Christmas because he was a little naughty.  Then he remembers just feeling a little sad when the other kids boasted of their Christmas haul.  He didn't want his children to be the ones to make the others feel bad so our Santa gifts were nice, but modest.  But there was one present Santa always had to bring because the best Christmases are sure to have... dart guns. Although  none of his daughters ever put that on their Christmas list, it became a sentimental tradition.  My 7 boys, and the girls too, can thank their Grandpa for inspiring Santa to supply them with what has now become a pretty sizable stockpile of  Nerf dart guns.

I believe.