This year, as last year, Santa Claus is a fun theory in our house, someone to mention in passing conversation, a symbol of something that mommy references to restore some better behavior. Jrue, only four, and Jai, still just a baby, do not yet recognize anything symbolically “Santa” except that they can meet him every year and that he somehow “brings” toys to the house on Christmas. As my children age, I have already decided that I will begin to build the argument for Santa’s existence.
My decision to pursue and induce the kids’ Santa ideology is not an argument to or for the merits/demerits of teaching children to believe. I am assuredly open to the benefits of both ends and respect all parents on either spectrum. Frankly, I already regret the day when Jrue stops believing, but, until then, I will make it my best to plant the most rational proposals possible for a concept so mythic.
My husband is neither here nor there with the paradigm, so it appears I am on my own. No problem at all.
The motivations I host stem from my childhood. As the oldest of three girls, I assume that I was the guinea pig, the kid to test out the Santa belief on. Man, did I bite. I never had to argue for his existence to my peers, but I was armed with all kinds of “factual” information regarding North Pole operations and travel ability and magic powers.
Lots of magic powers.
My parents were awesome Santas. Elves called us to “confirm” our lists. They left footprints in the elementary school my mom worked in. Santa delivered our Barbie houses fully constructed and divided evenly amongst us. I do not recall when the notions began, but I believed in Santa Claus literally to a fault. I say to “a fault” because I was absolutely not emotionally ready when I discovered evidence to the contrary at the “old” age of 12. I didn’t make a big scene of it; I never let my parents know that I had found the store tags on my supposedly elf-created music CDs.
I was a pretty decent big sister by dealing with it silently so that I didn’t ruin it for my little sisters.
I’m sure they had stopped believing years before I did, though.
My plan is to paint Santa and his world as I would write an in-depth, strategic argument. Because my children are what I affectionately call “new-age technological,” I know that the standard notes on Santa will not do. In addition, they will “Google it” (which I will rig, by the way). Instead, I will concentrate on more realism in my claims, reasoning, and oppositional acknowledgements.
For one, do the elves make the toys? Of course not. Well, not anymore. Could you imagine an elf erecting millions of Xbox consoles? The Santa doppelgangers who represent him by sitting in and collecting kids’ orders at the malls around the globe go around to stores after closing and purchase the requested goodies for well-behaved children. The toys then get sent to Santa at the North Pole and are sorted by the elves and placed in the giant red sack for delivery on Christmas Eve. It’s a heavily-orchestrated process.
I have follow-up answers to holes poked in this assertion.
How does Santa get around the world in one night? My mother always told me that he works because time slows down (and that the reason why Christmas Eve goes by so slowly is because of this). As we sleep, time itself lags to allow him enough hours to deliver. He also has more than one night to travel because of the Earth’s tilt and spin. And, also remember: Not all children are good children. Santa doesn’t go to every single house in the world. God in heaven helps with the time deceleration because He is omnipotent.
Erin for Parents says he gets around the world quickly on “stardust propulsion.” Love it. Taking it.
Why do Santa’s reindeer fly? They eat magic pellets and all of their carrots.
How many elves live in the North Pole? As many humans as there are on Earth.
Where is the North Pole? In the coldest area of the globe, not necessarily the tippy top, but it’s invisible to the human eye. You’d have to be an elf to go to the North Pole. Santa is a big elf.
Why is Santa so fat? He sleeps ½ the year. You hibernate for 6 months and see what happens.
Then how does he fit into our chimney? He doesn’t fit down as his full self. He touches his nose, turns into a sparkle, travels down, and becomes his self when he’s in the living room. The same thing happens going back up. That way, he can have his milk and cookies; he can’t hold his food if he’s still in sparkle form.
What about houses with no chimneys? He goes through the front door. Parents can keep the doors unlocked for his arrival or make a special key for him. Remember: We’re all Team Santa, too, and keep close contact with Santa for reporting.
What if the parents forget to keep the door unlocked? Santa will gently break open a window, then order some elves to come and fix it via elf wave before we wake up.
Is Santa real? He’s as real as you and me and God.
I’m ready to field these questions, ya’ll. Not only will my children have answers, but they’ll be armed with responses to resistance, too.
Give me some questions! Test me! Test me!
I’m so excited. I’m so ready.