I’m not quite sure how the holiday season has impressed itself upon me in such a whirlwind fashion. And while it typically goes by fast, this year has downright pummeled me. Did it sneak up on anyone else? Because of this, it’s kind of a low-maintenance one around here. Our tree is up. But lights only. Our front door wreath is hanging. But no outdoor lights. Some inside décor has been placed. But nothing extravagant. And the gifts? They’re scattered about the house, not yet wrapped. However, the Christmas music has been playing. And of course, Elfie has made his daily appearance.
Last year I shared a piece about the spirit of the Christmas season. {Believe} The belief in something magical and unseen. And the innocence of my oldest. I was under the impression last year was going to be the final one for Santa and Elfie {the oh-so original name my son came up with for our Elf on the Shelf}. After all, he was ten. But here we are…another year later, another year older and still a pretty avid believer. He’s teetered a bit but not enough to cause him to question us. And I’m torn. My husband thinks it’s time we reveal the truth. He doesn’t want other kids at school to make fun of him. And while I don’t want that either, I’m just not sure how I want to admit it all. There are few things in this life that give us hope, joy and magical happiness. It’s partially why children are such a beautiful gift. They see life through the best kind of eyes. Perhaps if we never outgrew that kind of perception, we’d lend ourselves to more compassion, more patience, more understanding and more love. It’s a wicked world. And I’m not in any hurry to send my children out into those flames. So the idea of breaking this reality has me struggling. I realize I am likely in the minority and can quickly be criticized for allowing my eleven year old to still believe. But I think it’s perfectly okay to let your kids have faith in something that can’t always be legitimatized. I stand by the idea that sometimes life holds greatness that we can’t always understand.
There are a handful of pieces circulating around social media and Pinterest boards on how to tell your children Santa isn’t real. I’ve read most of them. I’ve considered some of them. And I’ve questioned none of them. Because every family gets to make the decision on how they want to address the Santa thing. That’s the beauty of parenting. It lies within your four walls. So as of now, the beauty of my parenting is sitting on my son’s basketball trophy from this past weekend. 
Because Elfie is proud of him and wants to share in the excitement. Christmas morning will arrive on Sunday. Elfie will be gone, a plate of cookies will be demolished [by my husband] and a stocking full of gifts will be left. And I’ll let the magic of the morning be still.
I am fairly certain I’ll come up with just the right kind of explanation…either next week, next month or by next year. But until then, I’m alright supporting a seasonal spirit. After all, the spirit is not in what we get or what we see. It lies in what we feel and how we give.
Tis the season, my faithful friends.
Weakness for Words 