Santa Claus is most certainly coming to town; and it’s great.
There’s magic in this here air; an air full of stories and wishes and remember-mommy!
I want to can and save it, sell it, market it, remember it, have it seep into my very bones. The very joy of my little boys waiting for Christmas. And yes, of course it’s commercial. And of course, I’m worn out, he’s looking for such a thing and I can’t get it. And I have only so many days in town. So many hours without these boys trailing after me to fulfil a certainly magical list. But isn’t it great!
It’s the good stuff. It’s like filling their little heads and bodies with as much good will and spirit and kindness as we can before the secret is out and their world becomes a little less magic. It is the essence of their childhood and we want it here in our home as long as it will stay. Because we know that every year, as they get a little older and more in tune with the world, they become more mature and thank God, wiser. They become more self contained and we’ll see them blossom in other directions, to places where we cannot go and we will wave them goodbye and watch in awe as they take flight. That’s what we signed up for right?
But for now, they’re here and they want to hear ‘The night before Christmas ‘again. They want the story of how that angel ornament fell or to remember the morning Santa himself left the fire door open and let in the cold. They want snow. They want it all and we endeavour to deliver so as to have memories to warm our old bones in years to come. Being a parent of children of a certain Santa loving age is like being the footballer in his prime; loving the glory but knowing that the day too will come to hang up the old boots as the roar of the crowd fades out and the world becomes a little less magic.
So we’ll see the man in the red suit this weekend and watch them, our hearts aching at the sparkle and beauty in their eyes as they try to convince this fella that they really are good. And there we’ll be, the gushing, beaming two at their side, bursting at the seams with pride, trying to capture it all so we have something to remember.