This is a bit laughable as I look back on it now, as I probably tell tiny white lies every day: "I'm sorry baby, I can't play with you right now because Momma's working," I say as I click through Facebook to skim the news. Or, "Darn it, it looks like we're all out of cookies.... how about some cheesy broccoli instead?" [Note: I'm pretty sure Erin still abides by this rule, though I have no idea how.]
But as a couple, and for such a weighty construct as Christmas, how to handle Santa Claus has been a tricky and longstanding debate.
We aren't religious, so embracing the story of Jesus never felt right. And perpetuating the commercial hullaballoo of Santa Claus didn't appeal, either. Any fictional character or myth that requires a lot of elaborate storytelling or choreography to be convincing seems like a violation of trust, if not a complete departure from the basic tenants of physics, logic, and common sense. Our unusually perceptive son would be on to us before long anyway, so what was the point?
Yet, Santa Claus is an institution much larger than us. Who wants to be the assholes whose son ruins Christmas for everyone? So we compromised: we'd tell our son about "Santa," but it'd be Erin dressing up each year for a brief cameo. That way, Daddy being jolly old St. Nick would be true, while not confusing his more innocent classmates when Ash talks about the presents he got from him. Or at least, that was the idea.
Trouble was, we failed to work out the particulars. Last year it didn't matter: the kid was 7 months old and wouldn't have known Santa from a houseplant. I'd gotten a cheap costume for Erin online and it was no trouble to mildly bewilder our son when he was handed a ball by a strange man in a red suit. No biggie.
But this year, with a precocious 20-month old, the message really mattered. The sheer mechanics of this plan was worth discussing in detail, yet we completely neglected to do so until it was too late. Did we agree on leaving gifts out under the tree? Turns out, nope. Who was responsible for the goodies in the stockings, us, or Santa? Totally unclear. If Santa arrived at a time when Daddy was conveniently "in the bathroom," what's all this business about him coming down the chimney during the night? And who the heck are all those imposters at the Mall? There were answers for none of it.
We got so many things wrong that morning, including who, what, when, where, and why Santa is....yet when Kris Kringle arrived festooned with an obvious fake beard, no belly, and suspiciously similar glasses to Daddy's, (not to mention a"Ho, ho, ho" that bellowed in a familiar baritone), we still managed to completely dupe our son. When Ash looked nervous, we went as far as to tell him it was "just Daddy in a costume" but it did no good: as soon as Erin reappeared in Daddy clothes, Ash ran off to figure out where the heck Santa went. And has been talking nonstop about him and the globe he left for days now. All in all, the ruse was a roaring success. Once again, I found this to be the most amusing possible thing, and delighted in capturing it best I could. This is one tradition that promises to make me smile for decades to come.
Thankfully, we have a few more years to get our story straight. :-)
We aren't religious, so embracing the story of Jesus never felt right. And perpetuating the commercial hullaballoo of Santa Claus didn't appeal, either. Any fictional character or myth that requires a lot of elaborate storytelling or choreography to be convincing seems like a violation of trust, if not a complete departure from the basic tenants of physics, logic, and common sense. Our unusually perceptive son would be on to us before long anyway, so what was the point?
Yet, Santa Claus is an institution much larger than us. Who wants to be the assholes whose son ruins Christmas for everyone? So we compromised: we'd tell our son about "Santa," but it'd be Erin dressing up each year for a brief cameo. That way, Daddy being jolly old St. Nick would be true, while not confusing his more innocent classmates when Ash talks about the presents he got from him. Or at least, that was the idea.
Trouble was, we failed to work out the particulars. Last year it didn't matter: the kid was 7 months old and wouldn't have known Santa from a houseplant. I'd gotten a cheap costume for Erin online and it was no trouble to mildly bewilder our son when he was handed a ball by a strange man in a red suit. No biggie.
But this year, with a precocious 20-month old, the message really mattered. The sheer mechanics of this plan was worth discussing in detail, yet we completely neglected to do so until it was too late. Did we agree on leaving gifts out under the tree? Turns out, nope. Who was responsible for the goodies in the stockings, us, or Santa? Totally unclear. If Santa arrived at a time when Daddy was conveniently "in the bathroom," what's all this business about him coming down the chimney during the night? And who the heck are all those imposters at the Mall? There were answers for none of it.
We got so many things wrong that morning, including who, what, when, where, and why Santa is....yet when Kris Kringle arrived festooned with an obvious fake beard, no belly, and suspiciously similar glasses to Daddy's, (not to mention a"Ho, ho, ho" that bellowed in a familiar baritone), we still managed to completely dupe our son. When Ash looked nervous, we went as far as to tell him it was "just Daddy in a costume" but it did no good: as soon as Erin reappeared in Daddy clothes, Ash ran off to figure out where the heck Santa went. And has been talking nonstop about him and the globe he left for days now. All in all, the ruse was a roaring success. Once again, I found this to be the most amusing possible thing, and delighted in capturing it best I could. This is one tradition that promises to make me smile for decades to come.
Thankfully, we have a few more years to get our story straight. :-)
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