My kindergarten year I noticed something...Santa wrote just like my mom. I remember feeling both sad and disappointed. I did NOT want to give up on the magic and frankly I was ticked. For years I gave my mom a hard time about how she could have done a better job of disguising her own handwriting.
My poor, Mom.
Fast-forward 37 years (ack. where does the time go?!)...I now find myself with two kids, who at 5th and 2nd grade, still believe in Santa. I'm faced with the opposite problem...
I'm dreading it.
I remember when my friend Kelley shared her experience in explaining Santa to her daughter. She envisioned that her daughter would think of her as a sort of super hero. But, in reality, her child's reaction was more like learning her dog had just been run over by a car.
This morning the kids created new Christmas lists. In Natalie's first draft she listed a large, empty refrigerator box and a whoopie cushion. Her new list includes 14 pieces of a coal and a sleigh bell. These lists are glimpses into their sweet, innocent selves. I'm having a hard time letting go of that.
The kids asked me to take their letters to the special silver North Pole mailbox that arrived in our town a few weeks ago.
I've decided I will wait until they come home from school...so we can mail them out together.
It seems, I'm not ready to grow up just yet.