Ho Ho Ho or Boo Hoo Hoo

Seven years ago, upon the advice of a family member who said if we wanted our kids to trust us in the big things we shouldn’t lie about the little things, I broke the news to my six-year-old that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  She seemed to take it well.

The next year, however, she sadly admitted, “I wish I still believed in Santa.”  I decided then and there that I would let my children discover the truth about Santa when they were ready.

This doesn’t mean I actively lie to my kids.  I simply play the game and let them believe – the same as I do with the Tooth Fairy or when I eat their playdough cookies.

It’s not that hard to allow the fantasy without the fraud.  When they see Santa at the mall and ask, “Is that really Santa Claus?” I say, “No, that’s just someone dressed up like Santa.”  When they ask, “Does Santa really climb down chimneys?” I say, “No, there are lots of houses without chimneys – like ours.”  When they ask, “Is Santa real?”  I say, “What do you think?”  Then I praise them for their deductive reasoning, welcome them into the “grown up” world, and remind them to keep the secret so it stays fun for the little ones.

I don’t think allowing children the excitement and wonder of believing in something magical is a bad thing.  Of course, we make sure they understand the religious side of Christmas first and foremost – that we are celebrating the birth of our Savior, not Santa Claus.

But what’s really great about the Santa tradition is that it motivates adults to be selfless.  It’s a time when we think about bringing joy to others by giving anonymously, without expecting anything in return.

And that’s definitely a good thing.

Tooth Fairy Economics

The Tooth Fairy is behind again.  At the rate my children are losing their teeth, one can hardly blame her.

Unlike Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny who can plan in advance for one special night, the Tooth Fairy has her schedule sprung upon her by temperamental teeth.  And unlike Santa and his magical elves, the Tooth Fairy works alone.

Every now and then, when a tooth lies unclaimed for a day or two, my children issue a not-so-gentle reminder:  “Mom, is the Tooth Fairy dead?”

I’ve heard that some children get big bucks for their teeth – like five dollar bills or more.  No wonder people complain that raising children is expensive.

One friend admitted that her son received five dollars for his tooth because that was all she had on her at the time.  Oh, the importance of a well-stocked change-jar!  Without elves creeping in to replenish it, the Tooth Fairy needs to make sure she has dimes, quarters, or loonies available at all times.  Pennies reproduce on their own.

The Tooth Fairy in our home knows that little ones who don’t yet understand the value of money would rather have ten sparkly pennies or five shiny dimes to jingle in her purse or pocket rather than a boring five-dollar bill.

Plain and simple, old teeth just aren’t worth much – except for, maybe, those teeny-tiny cute ones, poking through swollen baby gums, white and sharp, appearing amidst tears and cheers.

If lost baby teeth are worthless, why are the contents of the Ziploc bag in my jewelry box growing?  Why is it so hard to throw away those disgusting little things?

I guess no amount the Tooth Fairy settles on will be correct since no one can put an accurate price on what those baby teeth represent:  invaluable memories of precious childhoods, passing entirely too quickly.

Home For The Holidays

When I was single and living in Calgary, travelling home for the holidays meant an eight-hour journey through the Rockies into British Columbia.

The first year I took this trip, I put my life in my brother’s hands.  He put me in an old Chevy with a leaky radiator.  It was minus twenty-five and we crawled into Nanton just as the car died.  With cardboard in the grill we continued on, detouring around a twenty-one-car pile up, then creeping up and sliding down Kootenay Pass.  We arrived home after midnight, cold and exhausted.

The return trip was even worse.  Kootenay Pass was closed so we had to take the ferry which, due to high winds, was shut down right after we crossed.  Then we found ourselves stuck in a snow bank on a nearly deserted road.  Fortunately, three big guys in a pickup truck lifted us out.  We continued to Fernie where we spent the night trying to get warm.

The next year I took the bus.  It was a holiday-crowded overnighter and my seatmate was a clean lumberjack-look-alike whose legs were too long for the seat.  When I awoke, I apologized for using him as a pillow.  He said, “That’s okay, you can sleep on me anytime.”

You never know what might happen on a bus.  My dad learned this in 1961 when a large, white-haired woman wearing a red coat boarded and the drunks in the back began to sing Here Comes Santa Claus.  Luckily the woman wasn’t offended and the passengers enjoyed the moment.

However you choose to travel this holiday season, I hope you do so safely.  If you drive, why not tuck a shovel, candle, matches, blanket, and extra drinking water in the back seat?

Season’s Greetings, Merry Christmas, and Safe Travels to you and yours!