Faithful

I don't believe in the Easter Bunny. Or the Tooth Fairy. Or even Santa Claus. And around this time, my disbelief of that jolly old man is the equivalent of running a crack house. Sigh. I have tried to believe. Really I have. But somehow it just never rang true for me.

When Natalie was born, Gary used to do the whole Santa thing. He loved it. Truly. He would strategically place pieces of cotton balls in the fireplace grate (to make it look like Santa kissed the fireplace grate I guess?) and make boot marks with talcum powder on the carpet. He would leave out cookies and milk for that hungry guy. And one Christmas Eve at midnight, Gary even went out into the yard and rang a sleigh bell, and actually shouted "Ho, ho, ho", so if Natalie was awake at that precise moment, she would hear Santa riding off to deliver more toys to sleeping children. (Well, only good sleeping children apparently. Humpf. See? I just can't go with it, can I?) And all of this time, I probably sat in the in kitchen listening to Bob Dylan making plans for Christmas dinner. Humpf. Bah humbug indeed. I remember he used to make me wrap SANTA'S gifts in different paper, as not to tip off our unsuspecting daughter. That used to make me crazy too. That Santa man got all of the credit. I THOUGHT. I SHOPPED. I WRAPPED. And then he gets all of the accolades. Humpf.

Please, don't get me wrong. I decorate for Christmas. I wrap. I bake tons of cookies. The girls and I make homemade candy and give them as gifts. I sing carols. I send out cards. Over the years, the whole Christmas thing has grown on me. Really.

But Santa?

Nope. Can't do it.

Now with the divorce, the girls spend every Christmas in Dallas with Gary, which means I don't have to worry about the whole Santa Claus dilemma. Gary and new wife Trica (with the help of Jack and Freeda, Gary's parents) believe. They REALLY believe in Santa. They still write letters from Santa BACK to the children. They still do the footprints in the carpet. They still fill stockings. And they still use different wrapping paper. They believe, and so the girls believe. And I am off the hook because they always leave BEFORE Christmas...so all of the gifts they get before they leave for Dallas come from me. Santa does his thing in Dallas, not here in Virginia Beach. Whew.

I do wonder sometimes, am I simply a scrooge? Am I jaded? Pessimistic? Grouchy? Well, yes, I am all of those things. (And are we sure that grouchy still isn't sexy?) But I am not sure that has anything to do with believing in Santa. Someone said to me once that believing is simply having faith.

But faith? In Santa?

Look, I know I am not religious, but I do have faith. I believe in many things. Strongly believe. In my heart believe. Never doubt believe. That kind of stuff. I believe that honesty in a relationship shouldn't be selective. I believe that children are given to you to help you heal. I believe that in order to really forgive, you must forget. I believe that laughter, is in fact, the best medicine. I believe that true friends are necessary, just like the air we breathe. I believe that every woman is beautiful. I believe that at this point in my life, my life's purpose is raising my kids. I believe that everyone deserves to be happy. I believe that Christmas decorations shouldn't be out in OCTOBER! I believe that your family loves you no matter what (even if you don't exercise with them when you're on vacation). I believe you should never buy olive oil at The Dollar Tree. I believe that dogs know when you need a little love. I believe that my children are the light of my life, and the laughter in my soul. I believe that love can be blind, but should never be punishing. I believe that "The Sopranos" goes too long between seasons. I believe that nothing smells better than the top of my girls' heads. I believe that my parents did the very best they could. I believe that single mothers need free babysitting once a month. I believe that he's out there. I believe that life is short but also wide. I believe that kindness and generosity should come straight from the heart. I believe that skinny jeans don't look good on anyone. And I believe that everyone has the right to believe in something.

See? I am full of faith.

And there are only 29 more days before Christmas.

Ho. Ho. Ho.