Dear Mom it was the night before Christmas

Dear Mom it was the night before Christmas

At five years old Claire is at the peak of Santa enthusiasm. There are those that say you should not use Santa as a weapon, I disagree. If Claire is whining about having to eat her vegetables, “Santa might be watching.” If Claire will not stay in bed, “Santa might be watching.” If Claire thinks she does not have to clean up the 24 sheets of construction paper she just turned into confetti all over the living room floor, “Santa might be watching and it might be too late.”

When Claire arrived home on Christmas Eve, it was a little earlier than I expected. None-the-less I was prepared. I already had the presents wrapped, Santa gifts hidden in the garage, stocking stuffers placed on top of the living room shelves out of sight. Cookies were made milk carton was mostly full and carrots were in the fridge.

When we had finished putting out the cookies and carefully counting out 9 carrots, one for each reindeer, for those of you counting don’t forget Rudolph.

“Claire, I though Santa had 8 tiny reindeer.”
“Dad, you forgot Rudolph, you always forget Rudolph, the most important reindeer.” I had not remembered forgetting him before, but maybe I forgot I forgot him.

She had constructed a little Santa out of paper. It was three dimensional with rolled arms and legs, colored with crayons, and glued together. There was also a note. These were laid carefully on top of the plate so he would be sure to see them. The plate was then moved three times to make sure it was in the optimal location so he wouldn’t miss it. I tried to reassure her Santa knew we would have cookies and he would look for them, but that would not do.

She was very concerned about the lack of a fireplace. Fortunately we had watched “The Santa Clause” several times this season and she insisted going out side to make sure we really did have a furnace vent Santa could squeeze into. The whole furnace vent thing completely violates my suspension of disbelief but who am I to complain. I don’t have a fireplace and have no idea what would sound more plausible.

As I sat in front of the TV thinking my little girl would come sit beside me and snuggle a bit before I threatened her with Santa not coming in order to get her to go to bed, I noticed she was hiding things. The container of cookies we had made the day before was now being hidden in the back of a drawer. The bowl of M&Ms was placed into a plastic container with a lid and secreted on the shelf behind the Cheetos.

“Claire, what are you doing?” She had now decided the Cheetos were too precious to use as cover and deserved some protection and was precariously stacking pretzels in front of the bag.

“I am hiding stuff so Santa won’t take it.” It was an absurd notion, but then again, I did expect her to believe that a large man dressed in red and white would sneak into our house while we were sleeping, eat our cookies, take some carrots for his reindeer and leave presents under the tree. How far a leap was it that he might help himself to some Cheetos before he finished is journey. I mean traveling around the world in one night surely took a lot of energy, maybe he was really, really hungry. Maybe he was unaware that although we welcomed his presence for his subscribed duties he was restricted to 2 cookies, 9 carrots and one glass of milk.

“Santa won’t take our stuff, he just eats his cookies and is on his way.” I tried to reassure her.

“Dad, Santa really likes cookies we need to protect them.” I was not sure I wanted to push this. If she was afraid he would take our food, how far a leap was it he would sneak into he room and take her toys. Maybe to spread the wealth a bit. Instead of arguing it occurred to me I had maybe one more year of this max and I should enjoy it while I can. I sat and watched as she carefully looked around the living room and the kitchen deciding what needed to be hidden form Santa and what did not.

Cookies we made yesterday, yes, vanilla wafers that had fallen behind the microwave for a few months and now tasted stale, no. Cheetos, yes, pretzels, no. M&Ms yes, candy canes no, that may have been because we had 50 of them, I can’t be sure.

In time she was pretty sure the house was secure from kleptomaniac Santa and sat down beside me. We shared a glass of milk and some cookies, watched a few Christmas shows and eventually far later than she should have, but far sooner than she wanted, went to bed. We sang some Christmas carols and I kissed her tonight. “See you in the morning Sweetie.” “I love you Daddy, I will see you Christmas morning.”

I waited a couple hours to make sure she did not get out of bed, but I guess so close to Christmas there was little chance of her blowing it at the last minute. Santa could be watching. With everything out, and the lights off to insure she didn’t wander downstairs, I went to my bedroom. I know it is crazy but as I emptied my pockets I threw everything into my sock drawer instead of leaving it on top of the dresser. I cannot remember ever doing that before.

Love Mike