Truth, lies, and ice skates

So far, the holiday season chez Wells has been...interesting.

Thanksgiving weekend, Lottie lost a tooth.  Awesome, typical happening for a fourth grade kid, right?  Normally, yes.  This time was different, though.  When Trevor crept into the room the next morning to be the Tooth Fairy, he got busted big time.  Lottie saw him, and although Trevor tried his best to cover up why he was up there, our girl wasn't buying his excuses.  Once the Tooth Fairy cat is out of the bag, it's almost certain that questions will follow about other important figures.  Trevor and I decided that it was time to have the Santa discussion.  We knew we had to talk to them both because Lottie would have gone off and told Dallas whatever we said anyway.

Logically, I wanted to talk to the kids about Santa before someone at school spilled the beans.  Frankly, I was stunned that the topic hadn't come up before, but I was happy that it hadn't.  I didn't want the kids to be shocked if another kid insisted that there was no Santa, you know?  There was a little voice in my heart, though, that said to leave it alone and let it all happen organically. I didn't listen to that voice, and I wish I would have.

(Credit:Wikimedia)

Trevor and I sat the kids down and talked a little about the Tooth Fairy discovery.  We eased into the conversation about Santa, and neither kid seemed to be getting it.  I looked to Trevor for help, but he was across the room, looking at me expectantly just like the kids were.  I plowed on and talked about the spirit of Christmas and the spirit of Santa, and I was pretty sure that had gotten through.  Pretty sure until Lottie said something about how she knew it wasn't Santa who delivered the gifts because it was his elves.  Sigh.  Not computing.  I pressed on, and I could tell when Lottie understood because her sweet face fell.  Dallas stayed pretty stone-faced and stoic, but it always takes him some time to process what he is hearing.  After we finished the talk, Lottie disappeared for a bit, and Dallas went back to his video game.  I was pretty pumped thinking that it had gone better than I thought, and I was really relieved.  I should have known that things are rarely what they seem.

Later that night, Lottie confessed that she had gone to her room to cry.  I felt terrible hearing that, but she seemed to be okay once she had her initial mourning period.  She even talked about ways she could continue to share the spirit of Santa with kids at school and people around her.  A few days after that, Dallas started to make some noise about his feelings.  It started small, just some off-handed comments about not liking Christmas anymore.  Then he said he wished I had never told him.  (You and me both, buddy.) It came to a head as we were sitting in the waiting room at the dentist's office because, you know, that's always a great place to wallow around in emotion.  The office was playing Christmas music, and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" came on.  Dallas looked at me, said, "Liar song," and immediately began to tear up.  Solemnly, he said, "So, do you eat the cookies?"  I nodded and said, "Yeah, but it's mostly Dad." I was trying to lighten up the mood a bit, and good dad joke usually does the trick.  Not this time.  Big tears rolled down his face, and he didn't want me to talk to him or try to soothe him at all.  Ouch.

We made it through the rest of the dental appointment (no cavities!) and headed home.  I wanted Dal to have a little downtime because we had plans to go ice skating later that evening.  He seemed to perk up with some food and a little playtime, so I felt good that the skating would go well.  We arrived at the rink, and I worked up a healthy sweat getting all of us laced into our skates.  Once we reached the ice, Lottie glided off like Dorothy Hamill, and my sweat kept a-comin' as I watched Dallas struggle to stay on his feet.  Within about twelve seconds, he was frustrated and angry that he wasn't full-on skating like other people, and I could see a serious meltdown on the rise.  Just as I was about to suggest a quick break, the inevitable happened, and he fell.  He screamed as if he had been hit by a stream of hot lava and started to weep.  By this point, I was already at my limit of daily drama.  I pulled him up to his feet and guided him over to the rail.  I firmly told him that no one gets good at something without plenty of practice, and his two choices were to get a skate aid or leave the rink.  After some angry muttering, he agreed to the skate aid.  It took him a little time to get used to it, but he eventually got the hang of it.  A half an hour later, he abandoned the skate aid and ventured off on his own.  He'll never be a speed skater, but he stayed vertical for the most part, and he had a lot of fun.

I was happy as the evening ended until Dallas grabbed my hand on the way to the car and announced that although he had a wonderful time, he was still upset that I had hurt his feelings at the rink.  Approximately one hundred responses flashed through my mind, ranging from sadness to annoyance to thinking of the innumerable times he has hurt MY feelings.  If I hadn't hurt the kid's feelings, he would have spent the rest of the skating time being mad that he wasn't instantly perfect at something he hadn't really done before.  I'm happy that he stuck it out and made a concerted effort to work at skating instead of giving up, so hurt feelings or not, I'm calling it a win.

I don't know what the biggest lesson learned was.  Maybe I learned to listen to my instincts next time and not spill the beans on something that didn't necessarily need to be spilled.  Maybe Dallas learned that he'll survive even when he's upset or angry about something.  Maybe the rink employees learned that even adults like to ride on the seal-shaped skate aids.  All I know for sure is that Trevor can take the kids to the next dental appointment.

You better watch out

I recently read a post on Babble.com about a mother who chooses not to tell her kids about Santa.  I think the older I have become, the less judgmental I am;  and while I don't judge this mother for her choice, I'm not sure I agree with her reasoning.

Lottie and Dallas both know about and believe in Santa; I suppose that was a conscious choice that Trevor and I made, to teach them about Santa.  Then again, the whole Santa thing is also difficult to get around.  There are books, TV shows, dolls, inflatables, and songs about Santa starting as early as Halloween anymore.  Even if I wanted to avoid Santa, I'm not sure I could.  The Big Guy is everywhere. And I don't necessarily think that Santa is a terrible idea: he's a guy who brings gifts to kids once a year.  I don't see a lot of harm in that.  He's not stalking them on the playground, after all, or asking them to help him find a lost puppy.  We have had the talk about not taking anything from strangers and not ever, EVER going anywhere with a stranger, but Santa isn't the same thing.  Look, childhood nowadays seems to be getting shorter and shorter with less and less fun involved.  Toys have to be educational, and books have to teach morals.  Kids are expected to read and write before they get to Kindergarten, they're expected to be computer whizzes by first grade, and they're expected to grow up WAY too fast.  What's wrong with giving them a little magic in their lives?  I was a late-believer in Santa.  As a matter of fact, my family had to tell my younger cousin not to tell me about Santa because I still believed when he didn't.  There's something to be said for childhood innocence.  (And, by the way, I'm a fully functional adult even after finding out the truth.  There's no emotional scarring here...at least, not from that.)

A lot of people squawk that telling kids about Santa is lying to them, and these parents claim to never lie to their kids.  I call shenanigans on that.  We all lie to our kids from time to time; let's not pretend we're perfect.  When the time comes, I'll perpetuate the tooth fairy myth with no moral issues.  Sometimes I'll claim that we're out of ice cream when the kids beg for a treat simply because I don't want them to have it and I'm sick of saying no.  I have oohed and aahed over various art projects that look more like pieces of paper that have just been spit out of a trash compactor.  Will this harm my children?  Nope.  Will it tear down their sense of self?  Doubt it.  My kids are both deep into the world of fantasy, as well they should be at the ages of 4 and 3.  They love to dress up and play weird games like "Fire Baby" (don't ask) and "Apron Bachoodie." Why would I want to discourage their rich and imaginative fantasy worlds now?  Discouraging them from playing and pretending and believing would take away the very essence of who they are now and who they may become later.

Occasionally, around the holidays, I'll pull out the old "Santa is watching" threat just to get everyone back on track, but it's not a line I trot out every day.  As with other admonishments, it gets stale if used too often.  In reality, I spend every single day trying to teach my kids to be good all the time, not just at Christmas.  I try to teach them the importance of kindness and giving back in their everyday lives just for the sake of being kind and appreciating all they have.  I don't feel that teaching my kids about Santa and teaching them how to be generous people are mutually exclusive: can't I do both?  Can't I give them magic while teaching them important lessons about life?  I think I can, and I will.