Dear Santa…

Ho ho ho!

Ho ho ho!

After a challenging day fighting traffic to and from work — they still haven’t effectively dealt with the recent ice here in Dallas — I was blessed to spend some time with my kids while Mommy went out to a meeting.  In the back of my mind are the things I know need to be done but that I keep hoping to accomplish once I’ve gotten sufficient rest and have the requisite burst of energy.  I am talking about things like completing the decorating of our main Christmas tree.  Last week on the first of our snow days I allowed the children to “decorate” the tree.  The ornaments were not glass so I was not worried.  Of course, for the past few days I have been staring at a tree that looks as though it was decorated by a manic golden retriever.  The top five feet of the tree has no ornaments at all while the bottom is covered in multi-colored balls.

Let me focus on what I can do here and now.  That’s always been my motto.  Actually, my motto has always been “better living through chemicals”.  But you get the point.  Continuing the thought of our “wish list” adventure at the toy store the other day I decided to sit down with the little ones and do something I have not done before.  We were going to write letters to Santa!

My daughter went first.  At the tender age of 4 she hadn’t a clue as to how to compose a letter.  I started her off.  “Dear Santa,” I wrote at the top.  Then, after a few moments of silence she ordered me to start writing the toys she wanted.  “Sweetheart,” I said, “how about some pleasantry?  You know, we could ask Santa how he’s doing?”  She thought about it and then said “Dear Santa, How are you doing?  I want ____________.”  It took us a few minutes but we got the job done.

Next, my son came to the counter.  Clearly he had been thinking about this for a while.  “Daddy,” he said, “Please tell me what my sister wrote.”  I diligently read her letter for him.  Then he began to dictate to me.

“Dear Santa,
I love you and I think you’re real.  I have been a little bit of a good boy this year.  In April I turned 5 years-old.  Here is my list.  I hope your elves are not too busy.”

I was proud of his writing skills and, even more, proud of his honesty.  I wonder if this has anything to do with something his cousin told him recently and he relayed to me this afternoon.  “Daddy, if you’re a bad boy Santa brings you small black rocks.”  Apparently the word coal failed his cousin at that moment.

Here’s hoping Santa brings you everything your heart desires.

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