The Santa Issue

We had a lovely Christmas Eve: family, friends, delicious meal by David (caviar eggs, oysters, lamb roast, mushroom pudding, roasted Brussels sprouts, two cakes, plenty of wine) and fun late into the night. As in the past seven years, Eli left out a cookie and a glass of milk for Santa and although he was really tired and went to bed past midnight, he was up at 7 am ready to see what Santa had brought. We opened the gifts together and I enjoyed watching him open his gifts despite a lingering mild hangover headache.

As we do every year, we went to our "Christian friends'" house for a proper Christmas Day. They have a big house, big family and they fully embrace Christmas. Beautiful tree, gifts for everyone  (even the dogs) and plenty of food and drinks. Also, there are those American movies in which an entire family begins to sing for no apparent reason and everyone from the teenage niece up to the pater familias (with all the aunts and uncles in between) hits all the notes just so. They can do fancy things with their voices and everybody is cheerful. I used to think that was annoyingly unrealistic, but our friends are those people. (Minus the everybody is cheerful part; they fight over musical choices, among others. Still, it's such a treat!)

It was late when we got home. Conversation with Eli just before going to bed:

- Mommy, we have to talk about the Santa Issue. You know. (With a serious, sort of all-knowing expression.)
- Sure...
- I know what's going on. I know that I am old enough to understand about...
- Gifts and parents and wrapping paper?
- Yes yes yes. Those things. I know. But I don't know what to do.

His lips were quivering and this point and he laid down on the bed and said in a little voice, wiping a tear away:

- What should I do, Mommy? I really WANT to believe, but I know and...(more quiet tears)
- You know what, Eli? You can know things and still believe. Brooke (11 years old) just told me that she still believes in Santa even if his handwriting looks suspiciously like her mother's. And I told her Santa was magical so he can make his handwriting look like each kid's parent's. It's ok.
- OK...then let's not talk about it anymore until next year.