This afternoon Grace and I went to the post office to deliver a very important letter. It was probably a letter that I will always remember for the rest of my days because it was her first letter to Santa Claus.
I'm kind of worried about the whole Santa thing with Grace because I truly believe deep down that I have the only four year old in existence who doesn't believe. And not believe in Santa Claus?!? A child of mine?!? I still believe in Santa Claus, which leads to the sharp disappointment I feel when Grace gives us one of her patented shrugs of the shoulders and roll of the eyes at the mere mention of his name.
Or maybe the sharp sadness is caused by the realization that I may be the only parent of a four year old who can't use the Santa Scare Tactic. You know the one--Be good or Santa won't visit.
But anyway....
I practically had to sit on her last night to get her to write the letter. And after spelling out each and every word to her first sentence of I would like a Disney Princess oven, she was done and over it and, admittedly, so was I. So when asked to finish it for her I did. But I did it as a clever little p.s. and added all the things to the list that I have already bought. Yes, I manipulated my daughter's first letter to Santa to mentally provoke her to believe.
A four year old who doesn't believe in Santa Claus. I still believe in Santa Claus.
The realism in her I get. Hell, I may even be the cause of it. But I simply can't fathom the thought that a child who can nurse imaginary bluebirds named Blueberry back to health or can sit and have a tea party with Tasha and Donnie (her imaginary friends) cannot automatically believe that there is a magical sort of man who dresses in a red suit and makes true the wishes of boys and girls around the world. Should I mention here that my 13 yr old neighbor girl still believes in Santa? Yeah. And here I am manipulating Grace to just give the dude a chance.
But anyway....
After going through the whole barrage of Santa questions while waiting in line at the post office, we finally made it to the counter. The clerk asked Grace, "What do you have?"
In that cocky little nonchalant way that she has Grace replied, "A letter to Santa."
I lifted her and she handed the letter to the clerk. The woman assured her that she would make sure it got to Santa Claus in plenty of time. And Grace was done, ready to leave. She didn't even want to wait long enough for me to buy a stamp to mail the letter I was holding in my hand. Her job was done.
There's an organization for business people here that answers letters to Santa Claus that are delivered by the postal service. I read an article in the paper the other day about it and thought it was wonderful that there are still people who do small things like that for strangers...simply to keep the magic alive.
And that's what Christmas is about to me--magic. I can honestly say that Christmas is my favorite holiday. There is a peace in the holiday that I have always opened myself to. And with that comes the magic: the magic of smiles and giggles, the magic of allowing oneself to feel a little younger, and, perhaps most importantly, the magic of allowing people to believe in miracles; the kind of miracles that have turned into countless Hallmark and Lifetime movies. The mooshy gushy kind of miracles. And those are my favorite kind.