Santa Claus is Comin' to Town!

It's Christmas Eve.

I can't believe it.

In addition to adjusting to our new baby news, we've been going a hundred miles an hour around here. Poor Patrick is getting ready right now to go to a meeting for work that is two hours away! On Christmas Eve! His schedule has been crazy, but we're both thankful that he still has a job and that because of all the insanely long hours he's been putting in, he should get his full bonus in the new year. This will come in handy with a third bottom to diaper!

It's Jack's third Christmas, though he was just a month old the first time around. And it's PJ's first. It's so exciting being a parent at Christmas. The sleeplessness and butterflies in your stomach that started fading in your teenage years begin to come back as you anticipate the excitement your child will feel coming downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing the gifts under the tree. I love it.

Of course setting that scene means lots of preparation on the part of the parents Mommy. Buying gifts, wrapping, planning Christmas breakfast...it can get a little stressful. I had one friend growing up whose parents didn't even put up the tree until the kids were in bed Christmas Eve night. While the thought of the kids coming down to see the tree and all the gifts is dreamy, I can't even imagine all the work that went into pulling that off each year. I think that feat alone is what had my friend believing in Santa way past the usual pre-teen years.

And that brings me to a topic for discussion.

Do you tell your kids about Santa?

It's a little hard to escape the jolly old elf this time of year, but I always vowed not to tell my children that Santa was the one bringing their presents, if only to avoid the inevitable revelation of the truth. I've had an experience revealing this truth to someone and the trauma of it was horrible.

Shall I tell that story? Okay, I will.

I think I'd figured out that my parents were actually Santa pretty early on. We didn't have a chimney, Santa's writing was exactly the same as my Mom's, and I never got that pony I always wanted. Santa wouldn't be that practical. He drives reindeer, for goodness sakes!

Anyway, I told my Mom, at about six years old that I knew she was the one who did the presents. She reluctantly conceded. She told me, though, that lots of younger kids still believed in Santa, so I shouldn't ruin the surprise for them. I understood.

I was in on the secret now, though, and it felt pretty special to know something they didn't.

So one year, my Mom's friend came for a visit at Christmastime. She had a daughter who was my age, some who were younger and some who were older. I can remember playing in the basement with the girls and the topic of Santa came up. Well, knowing that the younger ones still probably believed in Santa, I did a little wink-wink nudge-nudge with one of the older girls, eager to let her know that I was hip to the secret myself. She looked at me quizzically and, thinking she was just acting, I told her that I knew that it was really our parents who gave us gifts.

The crying that ensued was unlike anything I'd ever seen.

She went running to her mother telling her what I'd said and asking if it was true. My Mom was giving me the hairy eyeball the whole time, upset that I'd spilled the beans. It was awful.

So I decided that I didn't want my children to suffer a similar fate.

But, breaking my own vow, I did tell Jack about Santa this year. There's just something so fun about seeing the look on a child's face when you tell him that you have to leave cookies out for Santa and some carrots for Rudolph so they can have a snack when they come to bring his presents. It's precious.

I'm not sorry I did it. I don't think I'll keep it going for too long, but it is fun watching them get excited about Santa and Christmas.

How do you handle the Santa issue?

I hope everyone has a blessed Christmas and a very happy, healthy New Year!