My Eldest is at that milestone age where she's seriously questioning the logistics of all things Santa. She's actually had it figured out since age five when a lady at her school wore a fake Santa suit and tried to play it off like she was there real thing (REALL?! I mean...like...reeealllyyy?) Anyway, this year the questions are more intense. The more we discussed it, the more she caved. She admitted that she's afraid if she doesn't believe and Santa IS real, she won't get a gift.
Soooo... we got invited to a Santa Open House on Sunday. My Husband knows someone whose dad is a jolly looking man and as a ministry of sorts each year, he opens his home up to boys and girls, dresses up as St. Nick and chats with the kiddos.
The day before, My Husband's company holiday party was at this jump zone kind of place, where, of course, Santa would be making an appearance. He, too, was a jolly looking Santa and My Girls loved seeing him. My Eldest even got a little shy.
About a week before these weekend Santa events, My Eldest and I were at Target, just the two of us, walking quietly through the produce. She initiates in a rather smiling-voice, yet authoritative-lawyer voice:
Eldest: Mommy, you and Daddy just put presents under the tree for us, right? There's not really a Santa.
Quick on my feet and with a tinge of ambiguity in my tone, I reply:
Me: You're right.
E: Really?!
M: Yes.
My Eldest stops to think about this for a few seconds. She's kind of giddy about what was just said, but I'm not sure why. I guess because she'd figured it out on her own. Unexpectedly, she fires back:
E: You're kidding. There really IS a Santa.
M: What do YOU think about if Santa is real or not? (<~~~ turned the tables. Good job, huh? Oldest trick in the book.)
E: I think he's real.
We continue to walk and mere moments (but seemed like ten minutes) later she re-interrogates me:
E: I think there's no such thing as Santa. Am I right?
M: Yes. I told you earlier, that's right.
She just giggles, still uncertain, wheels turning in her head. We finish our shopping.
On Wednesday night, we do the whole Christmas decorations violation to our house. Toward the end of the feat, My Kids were to and fro' from their bedroom while I was picking up leftover boxes and whatnot to store until after the holiday has passed. I proceed to tell My Husband and MIL the story of The Santa Interrogation. My Eldest wanders to the living room and hears me relaying the story. Suddenly, she drops to her knees and begs me not to tell the story. She felt so embarrassed about it, confessing that she's afraid to not believe because if there IS a real Santa, he might not leave her presents. So we broke open the subject and talked about it together.
With a silly, awkward grin on her face, she itemized the entire process:
Mommy, you put the presents at the fireplace. Daddy, you eat the cookies and drink the milk. Mommy, you write the letter from Santa.
My Husband looks to me and says to her:
What would it take for you to believe that there IS a Santa? What would PROVE it to you?
She hmms for a second, then offers:
He would have to draw a picture of all his reindeer and sign his name, you know, autograph it.
After going through the mechanics of 'how do you know that's really Santa's signature', My Husband pulls out an invitation to this Sunday Santa Soiree. We were invited to a Santa Open House. This Santa has a specialty in kids who are wavering in their belief -- the magic is not working anymore. My Husband then asks My Eldest if she'd like to go, and she leapt at the opportunity.
H: If you don't believe in Santa, why would you want to go?
E: To see if he's the REAL one
M: Well, what about yesterday at the company party? Didn't you see Santa there?
E: mmm...no, that wasn't the real Santa
M: Why not? How do you know?
E: Because that guy was missing a tooth.
So. There ya have it. Sunday Santa is real because he has all his teeth.
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