As I was getting on the ferry the other day, two little girls had this conversation:
Girl 1: Dad texted it to him.
Girl 2: He texted him the list?
Girl 1: Yes
Girl 2: How do you know?
Girl 1: He told me
Girl 2: He told you he texted the list?
Girl 1: (sighing) Yes, he texted the list!
Girl 2: Are you sure?
Girl 1: (now exasperated) YES!
Girl 2: How does dad know his number?
That's right folks, Santa's gone electronic. I couldn't help but think of how technology has changed our lives, right down to how we get in touch with the man in red.
When it comes to having Santa's number I almost said to them, "I think my mom has his number. She used to call him when I was being bad."
True story - every time I did anything naughty and it was in the late part of the year (maybe starting in August) my mum would threaten to call Santa. If that didn't work, she would get on the phone and tell him I was being bad. I would go nuts! I would also stop being bad. The thought that my mum was actually talking to Santa Claus would scare all the naughty things out of me. Note to self: use when I am parent.
Everyone seems to have the story of when they stopped believing in Santa Claus. For some it was traumatic, like a friend of mine who was told my his first grade teacher (and yes, his mother marched to school the next day to chew her out), for others it was perhaps a simply realization one year that their dad was the one eating the cookies and milk.
I honestly can't remember when I stopped believing. This is going to sound corny, but I don't think I ever really stopped. Firstly, I did believe in Santa Claus for a long time. Well past my elementary comrades. I remember (and my mum will dispute this) one Christmas when I was about nine. We had driven to Alberta from Winnipeg for Christmas. We took all of our presents to open at my grandma's. When we got back, there was another present under the tree. I was so excited about Santa's drop-off. But seeing as the gift (a 'Get in Shape Girl' set - remember those?) was from my parents, they wanted me to know that they were giving it to me.
My dad showed me how impossible it was for Santa to get down the chimney as the flue was shut AND he had placed a big tile thing in front of the fireplace to keep the cold out. I wasn't persuaded. I knew Santa had figured out a way to get in.
My grandmother always believed in Santa. She said he was the magic of Christmas. So if you always believe in the magic of Christmas then you believe in Santa. That sort of stuck with me. And I am all about creating magic around Christmas.
The other day, my friend and I watched 'Elf'. At the end, I sighed and said, "Part of me sort of wonders".
"Wonders what? "
"If Santa is real."
Her reply? "You can't swallow the idea of Jesus but you think it's possible that Santa exists??"
Call me crazy. Call me a big kid. Or call me a girl who always believes in the possibility of magic.