I am writing today to announce the closure of the New Mexico Independent. After three and a half years of operation in New Mexico, the board of the American Independent News Network, has decided to shift publication of its news…
While environmental activists played their part yesterday during demonstrations at the capitol building, going so far as to dress up as solar panels and to sing the tune of “You Are My Sunshine,” their counterparts, the anti-cap-and-trade contingency who has…
Roughly one quarter of University of New Mexico students are unimpressed with the state’s flagship public school, according to a survey that questioned college students about their higher education experiences.
I knew it was going to happen eventually, but when the moment came, I was completely unprepared.
“Mom?” said my nine-year old as we whizzed through the aisles at Target right before Thanksgiving. “I don’t think I really believe in Santa Claus anymore.”
I was rushing, but I took the time to stop and look my youngest in the eye.
“Aidan, why would you say that?”
“I just don’t.”
“Honey, I want to talk to you about this, but not right now, okay? We will have this conversation later.”
I was stalling, because I wanted to know what he knew, and why he thought he knew it.
But for all practical purposes, I realized it was too late, that he had already come to the end of Santa all on his own. Because the second a kid that age starts questioning Santa is the second it’s over.
I mean, once a kid starts thinking about it – REALLY thinking about it – the reality of an actual person named Santa Claus, who delivers toys in one night to every child in the world, makes no sense.
Over the next few weeks, my thoughtful, logical little guy gave me an earful.
“Mom! He’s never sick? He’s been alive for hundreds of years? He goes around the whole world in one night?”
And it sort of breaks my heart. Because I know, even if he doesn’t, that the cold-eyed rationalism he’s so proud to show me signals the beginning of the end of his childhood.
Even though I still remember exactly when and how I figured out Santa wasn’t real (Santa uses the same wrapping paper as my parents???) I’m the mom now, I’m the grown-up, and I know what’s coming — tuition and jobs and car payments and mortgages and worrying…lots of worrying.
And Aidan – he’s my baby. I’m not having another one. This is my last shot at Santa too.
So I tell him, “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up,” and “Relax, just be a kid and enjoy it.” But I can’t bring myself to tell my little brainiac that Santa Claus is real.
Thank goodness for my husband, whose attitude about Christmas and Santa I have, up to now, found kind of annoying.
But now I think I’m finally getting it.
Believe in this wonderful idea called Santa, he tells the kids, and it will be better for everyone. Not just for them – Santa brings wonderful presents – but for him, too. Because he actually BECOMES Santa (and he makes me do it too), planning out elaborate schemes and giving the kids things that their regular old mom and dad never would.
Without “Santa” there would be no whispered conversations between mom and dad, no secret late night toy assembly sessions, no surprises all around on Dec. 25.
I think our oldest son Gabriel gets it, too. I know he doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, but he keeps quiet.
So I think Santa will come anyway this year. And if we’re lucky and smart and happy and all those things families should be, I’m pretty sure he’ll keep right on coming.
