The Secret, Part II

"So, what about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy? Did you tell him about them?"

They didn't even come to mind given that we were in the midst of the Christmas season. I figured I had gotten the Santa Clause part out of the way...I would tell him the rest eventually. Well, "eventually" came just a few days later.

Every evening the kids and I read books together. We all like to read but it's required homework for Ryan and Grace. Ryan and I usually read books that are a few grades beyond his grade level so we take turns reading but I probably read the majority of the time. On this particular day, Ryan was rather antsy during story time so was bouncing all over the bed, throwing pillows in the air and catching them, putting his feet inside the pillow cases and walking around like he was robot with giant pillow legs. I finally had enough and gave him a brief lecture about reading time. I explained that although I am reading, he must sit beside me and at least read along when it's not his turn to read. After a few more oppositional bouts of misbehavior, he settled by my side. Clearing my throat, I continued...

"But except for the voices of the clocks, Zinkoff is unaware of all this. He is too busy thinking about himself to notice what others are thinking. He is busy growing up. He is busy growing out.

"By the start of fifth grade Zinkoff has grown out..."


I pause...I have a read ahead and I see the words, "...of a whole flock of beliefs: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy..." I may have stopped reading but the boy beside me has not. I burst into laughter as I, again, get pounced upon!

Gingerbread

I am actually writing this in March but I am giving it a December date. I just uploaded some pictures and I definitely wanted to post this one of Grace and the gingerbread house we created. Grace loves...or should I say "loved" to decorate gingerbread houses! Every Christmas season, she begged to get one. This was never a tradition in my family as I was growing up but it is...or should I say "was" becoming one. But after this year, we will probably never build another gingerbread house...at least not when Grace is around.

We had such an awesome time putting our house together. We made the icing to just the right consistency, "glued" the gum drops along the roof top, clipped the gummy mint leaves to create greenery, and did plenty of sampling along the way. And of course, there was Christmas music in the background...Kenny G, Miracles, if remember correctly. There were probably vanilla candles, as well. Ahhhh, the memories...

Then came the begging. "Pleeeeeese, mom...I just want to try it! Can't I have a piece? Why would we make a gingerbread house and then just look at it?" I explained that we, at least, needed to show daddy when he got home. We worked so hard and it was so pretty. We needed to let someone else see it first before we devoured it.

Mike gets home...sees it...then onto the begging. "Pleeeeeese mom! I just want a little piece...I just want to try it!" I made sure we had a picture of it and I gave the kids the okay to "dig in".

Then came the eating...

A few hours later came the stomachache...

Not too long after that came the throwing up.

I should point out that Grace was the only one who was sick...just a lousy coincidence. But just because the gingerbread house was not the cause, this didn't stop Grace from correlating the two. She could not look at the gingerbread house without feeling queasy. We had to hide it! Before she walked into the kitchen she would ask me, "Are you sure I'm not going to see it when I go in there?" The smell made her sick. The thought of it made her sick. We threw it away so she would not have any visual or olfactory reminders.

Maybe next year Grace will have forgotten about the effect the gingerbread house had on her but something tells me that decorating a gingerbread house will not continue to be our yearly tradition.

The Secret

I remember it as if it were yesterday. My sisters and I were decorating the Christmas tree. Our parents were sitting there with smiles on their faces, watching their daughters participate in our yearly tradition. But my mind was filled with thoughts of earlier that day when Bobby told me there wasn't a Santa Clause. I defended Santa vehemently. I knew he was real! I saw him, I sat on his lap and sent my Christmas list to him. There was evidence of his existence...a stocking filled with candy and presents under the tree with his name in the "From" space. I was not ready to give up that magical dream of flying reindeer whisking Santa from roof top to roof top delivering gifts. Should I ask? After mulling it over, I turned to my mom and asked, "Is Santa Clause real?" My sisters paused to see what her response would be.

"Do you want to know the truth?"

"Yes!" But I was secretly hoping she would confirm my belief.

"No, Santa is not real. We give you the presents...we are Santa."

The look on my face prompted my mother to ask if I was okay. I said yes and made some excuse about needing to go to my room. I broke down in tears. Tears of embarrassment, tears of a broken dream. I know...dramatic...but what wasn't at that age?

Now I am passing on this tradition of having my children believe in Santa. Over and over I have thought about the time when my children will ask me the question, "Is he real?" How will I spare them the disillusionment I felt when I learned the truth? Well, that time arrived with Ryan a couple of weeks ago.

My sister, Cheryl, had come over to the house to help Ryan with a school project while I gave Nathan a bath, read to Grace and got them ready for bed. She called me shortly after she left and explained that Ryan was asking her if the story of Santa Clause was truth or fiction. Earlier that day, a boy in Ryan's class announced his knowledge that his parents were actually the one's who give him gifts from Santa. He relayed the story of how he snuck out of his room last year witnessing his parents wrapping gifts and filling his stocking. The next morning he realized the presents he was opening from "Santa" were in the identical gift wrap his parents were using the night before. He put two and two together...

Cheryl didn't know what to tell Ryan so she confirmed that Santa is real and then called me to let me know that Ryan is questioning his existence. I had already been toying with the thought of telling Ryan the truth. I wanted him to know before he found himself in the position of defending Santa as I did when I was a child.

Ryan got ready for bed and, true to our usual routine, I went into his room to have "a talk" and to say goodnight. I grasped for the right words. Maybe I could get him to ask me about it...that would be a place to start...but how could I get him to ask me???

I started talking about Christmas and Santa but that didn't seem to be working so I finally decided the direct approach was probably better.

"Ryan, I have an adult secret to tell you and I am trying to decide if you are old enough to hear it."

Ryan looked at me wide eyed. I could just see the wheels turning...of course he would want to know an adult secret!!!! "Yes, Mom, I'm old enough...tell me!!!"

I asked Ryan if he wanted to know the truth about Santa. He answered in the affirmative so I apprehensively announced to him that his Dad and I are Santa and waited for his reaction.

He sat there for a moment staring at me in disbelief, mouth and eyes wide open, looking surprised. Then he smiled, started laughing and tackled me saying, "You rascal!" (Where he gets phrases like that, I have no idea!). He repeated over and over, "I am in shock! I don't believe it!" At the same time he admitted there was part of him that doubted a man could bring toys to every child in the world, in one night, being transported by a bunch of reindeer. He said that sounded a little silly. After this news sunk in he told me he wished I wouldn't have told him because he had plans to go to the North Pole someday to visit Santa's workshop. I pointed out to him that whether I told him the truth or not, there still wouldn't have been a Santa's Workshop on the North Pole.

It took Ryan awhile to reorganize his beliefs to make sense of the world again. That evening he got out of bed about ten times to ask me questions about Santa, reindeer, stockings, presents, where his Christmas lists had gone, etc. He eventually fell asleep.

Later, I told Mike about what had transpired that night and about how I revealed the truth about Santa. After he thought about it awhile, he asked, "What about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny?" Ugh...We'll cross that bridge when we come to it!

Good Bye, Montana...

Saturday was a difficult day. Much different from that day 16 1/2 years ago when my sister and I browsed the adoption center at the Humane Society in search of dogs to call our own. I picked a sad-looking dog with spots on his tongue. This little black puppy was sitting in his poop and I was just sure no one else would want him. He was a Lab-Shepard mix, clearly looking more like a Lab. Sandy chose his brother...a playful, black, brown and tan puppy resembling a German Shepard. We named them. Mike and I named our dog Dakota, which means "friend". Sandy chose the name Montana.

Later that same year, our family acquired another canine...a short haired Chihuahua-Terrier mix, whom we named Lexi. This dog belonged to my mom. We all lived together but each of us were raising our own dogs.

Through time and circumstance, Mike and I ended up with all three dogs. Phew! It has not been easy. Dakota was very athletic and could effortlessly clear the top of most fences. And all of the dogs loved to "door dash" whenever the opportunity presented itself. I remember them coming home, happily panting after their hour long trek around the neighborhood, smelling like they rolled in dead animal and trash. Baths all around!

Although having three dogs was a bit overwhelming, there were good times. Montana and Dakota could wrestle around in the back yard for hours. Lexi would also join in but was a bit crabbier than the boys and would "punish" them with a scolding bark if they got too rough. When we took Dakota for a walk he would take the leash in his mouth. It looked like he was walking himself. Dakota also had this awesome ability to smell a rock and fetch the same one from under water. That was impressive!

Lexi established herself as the queen. She used to guard the food bowls and would not allow the boys to eat until she was done....well...and even when she was full. When we realized the dog bowls were staying full (and when Dakota and Montana started looking at us as though we were going to be their next meal), we had to intervene. Eventually, they had to eat on separate floors! Otherwise, Dakota and Montana would have starved to death.

Montana, who had a loving but protective nature, was wonderful with children. They could climb on him, pull his ears, tail and hair, but he would never snap. Just a low growl indicating he had enough. He was probably the most loyal of the three and by far, the best behaved! All of the dogs brought so much to our lives...more than we realized or appreciated!

Time passes so quickly, especially for a dog. A couple of years ago, we lost Dakota to cancer. That was hard but we still had a part of him...Montana. The past couple of years have not been good for him. His heart has been strong but his body was not. Most mornings he had difficulty standing and when he did, his back legs would give out. His arthritis must have been painful but he never complained. We knew it was time. Making "the appointment" was hard but walking him into the office on Saturday morning was even more of an emotional challenge.

Mike and I lifted him up on the table and scratched him in all of his favorite places...his ears, his belly, his back...he just laid there waiting. As the medication took effect, we could feel him relax and sensed the release of his soul. I can only pray that there is special place in heaven for dogs and that he is there reunited with his brother.