Santa showed.
He didn't bring Baby Alive (the doll that poops), he didn't bring Wii
or Playstation anything. He did bring a lot of small things, like coloring
books and pens and little Schleich PVC animals.
I was sweating the whole morning scene, but it
turned out wonderful. Smedley has a way of cutting through the pleasantries to
say exactly what she's thinking, which is exactly what I'm afraid she's thinking
-- but not this time. She was THRILLED with the color books, the pens, the
Schleich animals. I need to have more faith.
Sparky, of course, would've been happy playing
with the bows and wrapping paper, so small presents to her are still magical.
She doesn't even seem to know, or care, what Baby Alive is, and the dearth of
Baby Alive and Baby Alive Accessories (sold separately) under the tree didn't
faze Sparky one bit.
So I was a little surprised to see Sparky
standing in the doorway to the kitchen this morning looking crestfallen. She
and I were the only ones awake yet. "What's the matter, honey?" I
asked.
"Santa didn't come," she whispered. I
scooped Sparky up and tried not to choke up as I explained to her that Santa
comes on Christmas Eve and not again for a year. It never occurred to me that
she would look for him each morning after Christmas. She took it in
stride.
What both girls don't know yet is that they
still have packages to open. We stretch Christmas out as far as we can to keep
things fresh, and to keep the girls from becoming even more overwhelmed than they
are. It's a good system, one that is very forgiving to late shippers (and I'm
one of those myself).
The girls got new jackets from Grandma Lynne and
Grandpa Dave, and they were very excited. Sparky's has the words "snow
princess" embroidered on the rump. Smedley declared that her coat also read
"snow princess," though she was just making it up for some reason. She thought
better of it, though, and immediately announced that she had been "lying," as
she put it. Then she suddenly became morose and grumbled, "Mine REALLY says
'fat girl' because it makes my butt look fat." I was shocked and my face must
have shown it. Smedley instantly broke into a wicked grin, so I knew she was
kidding and that she wasn't really putting herself down. But it's disturbing
that a five-year-old would ever think in those terms, and that she's learning to
equate self-worth with dress size. She's not getting it from us, she's getting
it from marketing. I'm gonna blow up the TV.
So Merry Christmas to both of you, dear readers,
and here's hoping that the spirit of the season hasn't been drowned in too much
alcohol, bloated with too much eggnog, overwhelmed with too many presents, or
cheapened by too much marketing.
I'm really thinking about blowing up the
TV.
Recent Comments