Christmas Reflections, continued

On Santa

Around Thanksgiving, we started hearing talk from our little one about Santa coming.
We .. don't do Santa.
I thought it would be a very simple matter to say "he's pretend. It's fun to pretend, isn't it?"
It was not that easy. The culture of Santa permeates far and near, and it's a hard discussion"Mom," he said, condescendingly, "he's REAL."

We read the book on St. Nicholas. We talked about St. Nicholas. He was a very nice man. But he's dead now. Mommy and Daddy give you all your presents.

Aaaand then we ran into Santa out at the Christmas carnival. Handing out candy canes. Not looking very dead at all.
"What would you like for Christmas, little guy?"
"A pink and purple bus that sparkles."
"Ooookaaayyy--- you know, I've never heard a boy ask for THAT! Ho! Ho! Ho!"
Thanks for the candy cane.

Why don't we do Santa? I have a little guy with an autism spectrum disorder! He gets very tripped up by intangible nonsene (such as Santa Claus). It's also my job as a parent to help instill faith in him and give him the ability to make good decisions on his own someday, and to stand up for truth and justice! I have a valid concern that telling a black-and-white thinker that Santa is real and gives you presents, and then ripping that fantasy away from him at some point, be a bad idea if I want him to teach him about real Truth. Pretty serious thoughts, I know. Overanalyzing? Who, me?

But he really wanted someone to tell him Santa was real, even if that person wasn't me.

So he asked the lady stocking shelves in Payless shoes, he asked the dental hygienist, he asked the cashier at Penneys, he asked his grandparents, he asked his aunts and uncles, he asked his teachers, he asked his friends.

He asked me how Santa was going to put presents under the tree, since we didn't have a chimney.
"He's not real," I explained, "but if he was, he wouldn't be able to come in anyway, because the pipe to our pellet stove is too small for him to fit through."
It was a grinchy thing to say, but it didn't phase him.
He suggested Santa could come in through the sliding door in the back.
I didn't answer.

A week later he asked us about getting a Criss Cross Crash for Christmas (big noisy racecar track). We had already purchased it, but we thought it would be fun to keep him guessing.
"I don't know, bud, it looks like all the stores around here are out of it!"
"Oh, that makes sense," he reasoned. "They needed to give all the good toys to Santa Claus because SANTA BRINGS ALL THE TOYS!"

I said nothing, because it's just cruel to snuff out a child's innocent joy.

It's all those magical, warm-fuzzy Christmas movies, isn't it. They tell us that grownups are too old and tired to believe in the marvelous wonderful truth of Santa.

Was it beginning to melt my cold, grinchy exterior? Was my heart going to grow two sizes and practically explode out of my chest?

Christmas came and there were no presents from Santa.

He asked if I was sure all these presents were from us.
"Yes," I said and pointed to where the tags said Mommy or Daddy, or both.
I received a concerned little look in response.

Later, in the car he asked why Santa didn't come. He seemed sad. I relented.

"Elliott, he's not real, but... " and here I sighed big "... but you know what? We didn't write him a letter. Kids are supposed to send their letters to the North pole so Santa knows what to bring. Next year, I guess, we can write to him." Even though he's not real.

Dear Santa,

Don't expect any milk and cookies.

You're a nice man, but you're dead.

Love,

Helen

Reflections on Christmas

On Buying Presents for Michael:
I don't think I have ever surprised him with anything. I'm not a very good gift hider, and not even very good at thinking up gift ideas in the first place, so he usually has to coach me so much that he knows what I'm doing. i.e. "Well, Helen, you could get me video games." "Which one?... how do you spell that? Where should I buy it?"

So this year I got him a watch. Early in November. From the store where he works. He figured that one out pretty quickly. As far as gifts go, it's something we had already been saving for, since he sells watches and it's kind of good for him to have a watch.

Then I got him some pajamas, and I was going to surprise him, until we were having overnight guests and he said "I'm going to pick up some pajamas for myself because I can't just walk around in my underwear" (which is what he usually wears to bed) so I sighed and told him to "open this present, then...if you want it to be special I can pour you a glass of wine first".

But even then I didn't give up hope! I picked him a pair of $3 shorts, which granted, was sort of a joke anyway (he wears this pair of horrible grungy shorts that I can't wait to burn).

I discovered he is hiding other people's presents in the same spot. Do you think he saw them? I hope not.

So I thought as long as I was getting my Christmas bonus I would get him a pair of shoes, too. We were going to wait until next month but he needs them. So I bought him shoes!

They came in the wrong size.

OK, well, wrong sized-shoes would be a surprise all right. But not exactly what I was hoping for.
So, just for the sake of giving him something that he would want and enjoy and not expect - I got him a Dunkin Donuts gift card (justified by knowing that he'll spend his own money at Dunkin Donuts anyway). And then I found my purse in a different spot the next day. He had apparently been rifling through it looking for keys. What if he'd found it?

I was starting to think that if I wanted to surprise him then I would have to hide in the shower on Christmas morning, and jump out and scream when he comes in to pee.



Christmas day came and went and
1) He liked the watch even though he knew about it.
2) He was already wearing the new pajamas when he started opening presents, which made for far better Christmas morning photos than the, um, undies-as-jammies would have.
3) He somehow did not know that the wadded up shorts hidden in the training potty in the laundry room were for him.
4) He liked the shoes and tried them on just to be sure. They were not a fit but... he looks forward to getting the correct size (at no additional cost to us!)
5) Opened the DD gift card and said "Wow! How much is on here?" Visibly excited.


Tomorrow - "Elliott's Christmas" which might also be titled "All about the Who down in Whoville, who taught me that believing in Santa won't make you greedy and faithless"

Babies and Boobies and Basketballs

We'd been talking about Mary's journey to Bethlehem, and how uncomfortable she must have been, and also a little scared.  When we got to this part in our Advent preparation last year, I remember him having a lot of "babies" and "bellies" questions then, too. Oh, and let me preface this by saying I am not pregnant. I'm not being coy and hinting that I might really be. I'm not. If you saw me downing Riesling at Christmas, you know, without a doubt, that I am NOT with child, and not even gosh, giggle, maybe soon. Nope. I was throwing them back So without further ado:

Elliott has clearly been mulling over the whole Christmas-is-about-baby-Jesus-being-born thing, and had this to say about it:

"Mom, I think a baby is going to pop out of your tummy."
"I think you're wrong!"
"But babies come out of ladies' tummies." Hops up next to me, gently jogging in place on the couch.
"Well, all babies come from a lady's belly, but not all ladies' bellies have babies inside of them."
"Oh." He looks confused and slides onto the floor. I try to explain better.
"OK ok, you know how you can tell? Sometimes, if you see a lady who looks like she has a basketball in her tummy, she's actually having a baby."
*stares at me critically. I stare back, willing him not to say I that look like I have a basketball tummy*
"Mom." Looking at me over the top of his glasses. Don't say it, don't say it...
"What."
"What about these basketballs?" *points at my chest and starts jumping in place again*
My first response is to be candid and say that they're much smaller and not even the same shape- but I realized in time that it wasn't really where a mom ought to steer the conversation.
Rather, I said "WHAT? Um, I mean. That's not a baby. Those are boobies and I don't use them unless I have to give a baby nursies. Remember you used to be littler and you used to have nursies? That's what those are for." Yes, that's all anyone uses them for, no more questions, please...
He mulls this over while doing a headstand against the back of the couch, using one hand to grope at his own chest.
"Mom, I have boobs, too!"
"Yes, but you're a boy, so you don't really use them the same way. You'll probably never give a baby nursies."

... did I just say 'probably'?

Yes. I don't always think so well on my feet.

Joy To The World

So here it is, Christmas Eve for only a few more minutes. Elliott was asleep by 8PM, presents were all wrapped yesterday, and all of the goodies that had to be baked, are baked. There are no church services tomorrow and just a little bit of food prep... You know, I think we might get to have one of those idyllic family Christmases, after all.

Tonight, we attended a fabulous service at our church. It really couldn't have been more family friendly. I've never had to sit through a service with Elliott before, thanks to the Children's Church ministry, and I was a little nervous that we wouldn't make it. Sure, he's old enough, but he's ELLIOTT. He's a noise and a blur... always touching (his newest thing is patting people's cheeks - whether they like it or not) and always commenting loudly on whatever happens to cross his little mind. Like when we walked into church and Pastor John said "Hi! Merry Christmas" and Elliott replied "WHERE'S MY CROWN? I'M A WISE MAN!" Or like, "THAT GUY IS SINGING TOO LOUD" followed by clapping his hand over his ears. Oh and we were sitting right next to the family of "that guy." Lovely.

Oh but, yes. Elliott got to be a wise man. With a purple crown. Appropriate? Well, I guess all the angel parts were taken ;)

He marched right up there with his present, out of turn (the pastor's wife tried to hold him back, but she was far too gentle and it was to no avail). After plopping his gift of .. myrrh? frankincense? Gold? (not sure!) he marched right. back. down. Which wasn't what he was supposed to do at all. Redirected to return to the stage, he raced frantically past wise man #3, who was attempting to deposit the last gift in its place, and leapt dramatically onto the riser. Then jogged in place on the riser for a bit, before it occurred to him to turn in circles. This, of course, made it irresistible to the 2 1/2 year old wise man, who followed suit. The very mature 3yr old just watched them with wide eyes.

Eventually, they calmed down and held their positions, and were soon released back to their parents, after a chance to peer at the baby Jesus, as he was held safely in Mary's arms. The next half hour was quite fun, listening to a sermon with one ear and "I don't really like church!!" with the other.

At the end, our son got to go up and stand in his place once again while singing Joy to the World with the rest of the children. His "joy" was evident...before the music had even started, he had belted out the first lines to Joy to the World, and after the "real music" had begun, he was running and jumping off the steps by the pulpit, pumping his fist, clapping his hands, and running up to the other kids as if to encourage them to express themselves. The whole time singing. His exuberance was unmatched.

Michael and I stood in the second row in our usual position - hands folded, smiling politely, singing just loud enough to count. The only thing unusual was the stream of tears running down my face.

(From laughter.)

I swear he is our kid.