This is the year. The year the girls, especially my oldest, are really going to engage in the magic of Christmas. This is the year when I pose a question that i have never asked myself before... what kind of Santa am I? So, this year more than any year before, each moment is the beginning of traditions we will refine through the years.
The thanks has been given, the turkey's been cooked, its time to awake them from their summer slumber. The boxes are open. The decorations glisten. The small gazing eyes glimmer as the stockings emerge. The promise of wonder whispers into the room riding on Jack Frost's breath. I start spinning the tale of a man in a red suit with a belly of jelly and a laugh that bellows, "HO! HO! HO!" He flies through the night with his reindeer of eight as all the good children sleep. So behave and he will stop by our Christmas tree and bring you the gift you desire. To the mall, we go and see if we spy Old Kris Kringle so we can bend his ear. Dear Santa, my friend, can you bring me doll? A baby for my no longer "baby" girl. As we drive home, I begin to sing how all-knowing Santa watches, my daughters smile for more. Singing carols, hoping for snow with mugs of hot chocolate milk. The stars of heaven begin to fall to earth and sparkle around town. From the warmth of our car, we will admire our neighbors who are spreading holiday cheer with snow men that wave and Santas that fly and presents all in a row. I will tuck my kids in, kiss their foreheads and pray that the sugarplums they dream of are dripping with sugar while I run around sprinkling magic snow that does not melt and hope that my HO! HO! HO!s will not be too loud.
What kind of Santa am I? I am hoping I am the jolliest, the most magical one around. I am in a long line of proud Santas and one day, she will think of me when she asks herself, "What kind of Santa am I?"