We keep wondering if this is the year that Sis and Bud will figure Santa out. We thought so, especially after last year's repeated questioning about the logistics. But we realized that they are still deep in belief, with Sis leaving Santa not only a very sweet thank-you note but also a questionnaire on whether he liked her cookies. They also insisted on distributing reindeer food, as well as leaving out cookies and eggnog.
Still, Christmas morning there were tests of faith. Sis immediately noted that Santa's gifts had one kind of paper and ours had others (something I, remembering that as one of my own litmus tests, had insisted upon with Mama, who didn't think it mattered). Then she was quizzical when I mis-remembered who gave her what--I think I messed up the Brave-like AG doll clothes, thinking they were from us. And then I knew about the Cadbury chocolates in her stocking, so I had to say that parents sometimes helped with stockings. But she didn't seem fazed.
If that weren't bad enough, why is it that all children's Christmas shows seem to deal with questions of Christmas faith? Miracle on 34th Street, The Polar Express, "Yes, Virginia," "Twas the Night Before Christmas" (tv show, about the mice and the clock). And there are others, I'm sure. Perhaps we encourage children in their doubts with all of our protestations of belief. I don't even like to watch anymore because I feel they beg the big question.
So, despite the curiosity and the shows (which we've kept to a minimum), we seem to have escaped again this year. About this, I find myself quire relieved and pleased. Such childhood joy is the miracle of the season.
And, I'll throttle the kid who tells her . . . or ban the tv . . . though I suspect it might be my own "tells" that give it away. If I haven't already.