Greatest Gift

The presents are all opened, the turkey deboned, and the thrill of Christmas still barely lingers in the air. Today marks the longest wait until the next Christmas morning. That reality can be depressing, but I'm still smiling from receiving the greatest gift.

Yesterday was marked with the usual flurry over packages and who got what. That was shortly followed by scuffles like: "I want to play with his toy!" "No way, buster, mine!" and "Mom, he's got my toy; give it back--smack!" Ahh, yes, the joys of Christmas.

However, my greatest gift came before a single present was opened. It was even before any feet had hit the ground or the sun rose in the sky. At 6:15am Bob and I awoke to sweet voices in the next room where our sons Bobby (6) and Devin (3) had been sleeping. If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I might have doubted it happened.

In his angelic Charlie Brown voice, Bobby began: "Hey, Devin, you know what today is?" D: "What?" B: "It's Christmas, the day we celebrate Jesus' birth." D: "Uh-huh." B: "Jesus is the King of Kings." Silence. "He's our Savior." Silence. "He came to save us from our sins." Silence. "And today is his birthday; that's what Christmas is all about." D: "Ok."

No mention of Santa or the packages awaiting them upstairs. My heart was bursting with pride. It was true unprompted sharing of knowledge, from big brother to little brother. It's the most I've ever heard Bobby say about religion. As a parent, we try to teach our kids what we think they should know but often times we're met with blank or disinterested looks. I often wonder what really sinks in. Every once in awhile we get those moments we want to freeze and replay again and again.

When I asked Bobby about this incident later in the day, he wouldn't respond and ran away. It was as if that was a private moment between siblings, and I had no right to poke my nose in it. I suppose that's how it goes as they get older. Bobby doesn't know it now, but that 30 second conversation was the greatest gift I received this Christmas. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Are You There, Santa? It's Me, Margaret

Dear Santa,

It's Christmas Eve and the house is all a flurry with excitement over your arrival. The kids have written you notes and hung them on the mantle. Don't forget to sign the box that you read them to prove that you are real. And in case you miss the note detailing where to leave the presents, we moved the tree upstairs to the living room this year. They'll be expecting your bounty there.

We've also started tracking your progress on the NORAD website. I think you're in Cambodia right now; so I'm relying on your super natural powers to read this post. I know you're not responsible for all the many technoligies that have enabled us to contact you, but I'd like to highlight a few here.

The best of course is in person visits. We've enjoyed meeting and taking pictures with you at the local library each year, but when my 6-year-old missed that last week, he insisted that was a fake Santa. Don't worry; you were still real to Devin and Brooke.

I've seen websites where you can have Santa call your house or send an email with a personalized message, but coordinating that seemed too much effort this year. Plus I'm afraid Bobby would still suspect that was one of your minions.

Our 3-year-old Devin surprised us yesterday by tapping madly at the computer keyboard. "What are you doing, Devin?" "I'm sending an email to Ho-Ho (his nickname for you, but you knew that). I'm telling him Bobby is on the naughty list and that he messes everything up. But I've been good." Since we didn't have your email address, you may not have received that message.

But this morning we discovered another way to contact you: http://www.emailsanta.com/. Of course! Bobby and Devin answered a few short questions to get certified on the nice list. They received a B+ rating and "their halos were a little bit crooked," but that leaves an incentive for behaving well today. Thanks, Santa.

Perhaps my favorite means of contacting you is only possible in small town USA. In the town of 350 folks where I grew up, the volunteer fire department threw a fundraiser each December for a chance to radio Santa on the fire truck. All the kids piled in; no one bothered with seatbelts or car seats. The reception was lousy at first (that is a long way to the North Pole), but then your voice came in crystal clear. You patiently listened to all our requests one by one while we drove around town and hoped there wouldn't be a fire.

Santa, I haven't noticed that you're following my blog yet, but anything is possible. So I figured this would be one more place to contact you. I've been a pretty good girl this year and my list of requests is short. All I want for Christmas is a little extra patience for crowds and traffic, an open heart to soak up my family's love surrounding me, and the wisdom to appreciate the magic you bring when the kids are young and everyone believes.

Love,

Margaret

P.S. If you can clear up Brooke's cold so that she doesn't develop another ear infection during the worst possible time of the year, that would be great too!