Santa is a fraud....in my house.

Okay, think of it this way guys. The past few blog posts have been getting you to LIKE me. Fairly easy to digest material, nothing too wacky or controversial. Heart warming stuff. Well guess what, the honeymoon is over folks cuz I'm about to lay a doozy on y'all.

Ready?

Here's why I teach my daughter that Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and all the rest of the gang are fake.

Yes, fake. You read it right. Not real. As in, Eva knows that when the 'tooth fairy' leaves her coins under her pillow - yup, that was Mommy.

P.S. This happened tonight (and inspired this post) and I just LOVE when Eva looses a tooth. I don't know who is more excited about it - her or me.

Now before you go all crazy on me and insist that I am the stealer of imagination, killer of dreams and murderer of all things precious in my kids' childhoods - - just hear me out. I do have a few reasons which I will outline now, quickly, before you all end up unfriending me and covering your children's ears and eyes when you pass me at the store.

1. I won't lie to my kids. Sorry. That one pisses people off sometimes. Naturally, no one is intentionally lying to their kids when they tell them Santa REALLY comes down the chimney and leaves presents - but, in my books, it's a tad hypocritical. I can't very well teach Eva that lies are wrong - even white ones, even ones where you are trying to spare someone's feelings - and then turn out to be lying to spare hers ALL ALONG.

"Awww... but you're stealing the magic!!" No. Just. No. I hate when people tell me that. This was not a decision I made through laziness nor spite. I LOVE the holidays. I LOVE imagination. Santa still visits our house; as does the Easter Bunny and Elf on the Shelf and the Tooth Fairy. BUUUUUT... here's the clincher. They visit us but Eva knows that it's really me. Ruin the magic, does it? Lessens the fun, huh?

So you're saying Christmas Eve we get into our jammies, read The Night Before Christmas, bake cookies and leave them out with milk, leave out carrots for the reindeer, Eva FINALLY falls asleep after giggling and singing and talking and altogether keeping herself awake for hours our of sheer excitement - then, the second that first sun beam kisses her brow and she jets out of bed to look at all the amazing presents wrapped under the tree in their paper wrapped, bow adorned glory - you're telling me that she will sigh and say, "Whatever. Those are just from you, Mom and Dad. Lame."

??

It's just not true. You can have all the magic of Christmas and holidays without the literality of it. A man doesn't LITERALLY need to come down your chimney for Santa to be magical. A winged fairy doesn't LITERALLY need to be flying through your window at night to give you coins for teeth (which, in fact, if you think about it? Creepy much?) A bunny doesn't LITERALLY need to poop out candy. Make believe is still fun without being 100%, entirely, without a doubt convincing. When we play dress up, I don't suddenly have a Doctorate and if someone had a heart attack Eva wouldn't believe that I magically had the skills to save them. That doesn't make playing Doctor any less fun!

Think of it this way. This is how I explained it to Eva: She was 3. A very precocious 3 year old, mind you; which is where all this started. I knew I had little time before she figured out everything - her little toddler eyes peered into my very soul.... What with our family situation being as it was, I couldn't fabricate a father for her out of thin air, nor have the heart (or blind stupidity) to fabricate a story about why that was false. I decided to tell her the truth (as much of the truth as a 3 year old can stomach, I'm not cruel, peeps, promise). I needed a plan. She loved Dora. After we finished watching an episode of Dora, I ventured this to her:

"Oh, Eva. I sure love watching Dora with you. But... do you think, maybe, Dora would ever come to our house?"

She looked up at my inquisitively, her gears turning.

"Like, in real life. Is Dora going to come to our house?"

Pondering.

"What do YOU think?"

A big smile. "No, Mommy! That's silly. She's on t.v."

And so began the foundation of teaching her that Santa and his team are illusory. Does knowing that Dora isn't going to come knocking on our door make the show any less fun to watch? Alternatively, does believing that Dora REALLY is ALIVE and is out there somewhere with a talking pet monkey and friends make Dora better? (honestly, I don't think ANYTHING can make Dora good, but c'mon, we're talking at a 3 year olds level here...)

Also, I'd like to point out one other thing: I did NOT just up and say, "Hehehe you dumb little kid Santa isn't real mwhahahahahaHA!" There were no tears. No anger. No outward TELLING her, really. Like most things, I posed a thought or two to Eva and let HER brain do the work. If she can't get there on her own, SHE'S NOT READY. Her brain's not ready. It's that simple. No use pounding a screw in with a hammer.

2. I don't like the idea of Santa's lists. Again, sorry. I realize that some people LOVE Christmas time so they can drop a 'You don't want to be on the naughty list, do you??' to their kids every time an argument breaks out, but I just really don't agree with that style of parenting. I want my kids to WANT to be good because it's the right thing to do, not because they will get a barrage of gifts from a strange, fat man on Christmas morn. Payouts for good behavior? Not in my house.

3. Also, any and ALL of these pictures. Seriously. If your kid doesn't want to sit on Santa's knee - please, for the love of PB&J, stop FORCING it. Not to mention that I've never liked sitting on a strangers knee - not when I was a kid and certainly not for my own kid. If it's someone I know, fine, but we avoid mall Santas like the PLAGUE.

Okay, I also admit that sometimes this is just plain hilarity... but... also... kinda sad.

3. Insert paranoid-conspiracy-theory-esque-reason-about-Coca-Cola-and-corporate-money-making-schemes. Sorry guys. I believe it. I don't like it. I don't subscribe to it.

5. I like to believe my kids are smart. She's gonna figure it out soon anyway. Darn kid asks way too many deep questions already. She's the FIRST person to correct me when I'm wrong - last thing I need to do is give that smart alec more ammunition. The last thing I want is to have a 10 year old, figuring it out on her own, while I desperately try to cover my tracks so she doesn't 'find me out!'

4. Did I already mention it's hypocritical? I just don't get why we insist on teaching stranger danger and safety (we do live in a messed up world, peeps) and then romanticize once a year where a man LITERALLY COMES INTO YOUR HOUSE AND LEAVES YOU STUFF. And you take it all and open it all and eat it all and use it all and want more next year. Just cuz he watches you and you were good and all. Big brother, much? It's past 1984, guys...

Okay, I realize this has become a rant about Santa. But ALL the corporate mascots apply - Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and all. Why do they deserve the credit? Sheesh. I paid for those gifts. I made those treats. I stayed up until midnight and wrote that note and crept silently into your room and under your pillow, cat stealth style, without waking you up. I was the bomb. I deserve the credit. (Selfish, much?)

Now, I realize a lot of people's hesitancy also lies in the fact is the last thing we want is for our kid to ruin the magic for another kid at school. I HEAR THAT. Talk about my worst fear imaginable. The thought of Eva saying 'Santa isn't real' to another kid would give me chills. I needed her to understand that other kids literally believed in him and why. She needed to have the maturity to understand that and to know ruining that for them would be a terrible thing. So, I waited until she was ready. She's 7 now and she would never DREAM of saying anything to anyone about it.

For example: A few Christmases (Christmasi?) ago, Dallin's dad dressed up as Santa and showed up on our step. It was MAGICAL; even for me and I'm a grown woman! We were eating dinner, snow was falling. Suddenly we heard the faint jingle of bells.

jingle-jingle-jangle

We continue with our meal.

jingle-jingle-jangle - "ho-ho-ho!"

Our ears perk up. Looking back and forth to each other, wondering what on earth that was.

Louder:

"Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Eva's eyes are wide. Mine are wider. Dallin - well, he knew what the heck was going on the bum, so, he just rolled his eyes.

We glance out the window and through the blanket of snow we see a red-suited form making its' way through our backyard with a large sack flung on its' bag. I'm pretty sure I squealed. Eva probably just said, "What the heck is going on?!!"

We fling open the door. Santa emerges. In a flurry of "ho-ho-ho's" and snow swirling and dancing like glitter in our entry - hugs all around. Fast forward. Eva sits atop Santa's knee. They have their usual Santa-child discussion. She is beaming. She gets a gift. We all do. More hugs. Santa leaves.

As soon as the door closes, we hug more. The excitement is palpable for Eva and I - Dallin, meh. Not so much. Dummy.... But soon, Eva is soon heard to inquire, "Now, Mommy, is it safe to ask.... like, was that.. I dunno... Papa Lo?"

Dallin and I laugh. We ask her what she thinks.

"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean. He sounded like him. He kinda smelled like him. I think it was."

We confirm.

She beams all the more, "Ohman! I love him so much - he must really love me to do that for me!"

It brings tears to my eyes even thinking of it now. Hands down, that was one of the most magical and beautiful Christmas moments I have ever shared. I am so lucky to be able to have moments like that. And I'm so happy my daughter knows who exactly gave her that beautiful moment. I witnessed the love she had for her Papa Lo and Nana Jo grow exponentially - the thought that they would drive all that way to us (from Edmonton) and bring gifts and dress up was just unfathomable to her. It taught her a huge lesson about selflessness. Because that's what it should be about!  I'm not saying for a second that Santa shouldn't BE - absolutely not! I enjoyed the heck out of that surprise Santa visit - Logan is Da Bomb at Secret Santa visits - and that should never cease. Like I've mentioned before, it's the literality of it all that gets me.

To end this altogether too long rant on Santa, I'd like to say that this is MY way of parenting that I've pored over, thought about and decided upon. It is NOT for everyone. It's an equation that works for my families happiness; it may not work for you. In other words, take all of this post spewage with a grain of salt. I don't think kids who believe in Santa are dumb, nor do I think their parents foolish or lazy. It takes more than one way to make the world go round.

I won't judge your equation for happiness, if you won't judge mine.

Here's Why Mothers are DA BOMB

Here's the thing.

My last post was all but shining a massive spot light on fatherhood - Dallin, in particular - and deep down it was all in preparation for me to unveil a scary truth about myself.

I'm unsure why it's so much easier to bloggity blog but for some reason, the typed word feels so much safer than trying to spill my guts to friends or family on the phone or in person. Maybe it's because I can get all my thoughts out in a steady stream of sense; instead of the incomprehensible sewage that sometimes spews out of my mouth in attempts to get my point across verbally... Ahh... To have a verbal delete button....if only... Or perhaps it's because I can read the comments - good or bad - from the security of my home and click the ol' DELETE button if it contains any jabbing, hurtful replies. I wish we could do that in real life... When someone begins to say something insensitive or narrow minded or just plain stupid - we could just - nope - DELETE. Smack their forehead, V8 slap style. Alas... 'Tis not to be...

I digress.

Here's the thing.

On the eve of Mother's Day, (timing, anyone?) I am posting on my struggle with motherhood.

DON'T get me wrong. I love my kids. I love my family. More than anything. Also, please keep in mind this is coming from a place where the past two weeks  have been hellish for poor Remington - sick with stomach flu, ear infection, raging fever and on his second bout of antibiotics - and as a result I have had the neediest imp of a baby clung to me, koala bear style, for two weeks. I'm NOT saying my love for him has a limit but... I am EXHAUSTED. 

  He was eating dirt today at the dog park today... And I KNEW I should be a good mom and make him stop and endure his whining and distract his attention on something else and calm him and soothe him and give him a toy and be a good parent and I DID - I'd like to put strong emphasis that I DIDN'T LET MY SON EAT DIRT - for too long. But I had a moment where I looked at him and thought, "Oh gee, he's doing this now? Seriously. Gross.. but....eh. He's not crying....I'll take it."  And I just enjoyed the few minutes of peace. I DID, OKAY? I JUST ENJOYED THE PEACEFUL MOMENT WHILE MY SON ATE DIRT NO DOUBT LACED WITH DOG POOP SO JUST GO AHEAD AND JUDGE ME, YOU, OUT THERE, SITTING BEHIND YOUR COMPUTER, OKAY???!! 

I just am reaching a point where I don't want to mom anymore. Just for a bit. A day. Maybe two. That's it! I love my kids but can someone take over for a bit? And that is another reason why I'm so grateful for Dallin and being in a partnership - I CAN do that now and it is wonderful. I'm sure many mothers out there have felt the same. PLEASE tell me you've felt the same. What do you do? How do you deal with it? 

To date, I've tried:

Bottling it up.

Screaming into a pillow.

Locking myself in the bathroom with the fan on to drown out the knocking and whining.

Smiling like a crazy person to force myself into believing I LOVE THIS SO BAD.

Reading inspiring stories from other families.

Keeping busy with project after project after project.

Running for the hills when Dallin comes home. "Hi honey, I'm so glad you're home oh look we're out of milk and eggs and uh, kidney beans and we really need them so I'm just going to run to the store -NO! -No! I'll go. It's ok. Seriously I'LL GO."

I watched a well intentioned viral video about motherhood where a mom is shown sitting on the couch with her head in her hands, crying, exhausted, and her youngest son comes up to her, hands her a piece of paper with a drawing of 'Mommy and Me' on it. D'awwwwww, right? Um. No. I'm such a terrible person I literally though, "Uh... NO! You stupid kid! That is just a stupid piece of paper - it's nothing - it's garbage - how is that going to help her? DO something useful for her don't just hand her a bloody piece of paper with some crayon on it and act like that is going to wipe everything away for ever and suddenly her headache is gone from listening to your whining, suddenly she doesn't have raging cramps anymore, miraculously dinner is made and no kids are arguing and the house is tidied and the long list of everything else she's still got to do... No. Just no. You've given her a piece of paper and she still has to do all of that.  You SELFISH KID."

I'm terrible. Right?

But the funny thing is - I've totally been in this place before. Raging, angry, psycho mom stage - stomping down halls, slamming cupboards, sobbing uncontrollably and scolding kids - and Eva has drawn me a picture and it MELTS MY HEART. Suddenly that all fades away (for the moment, at least). I'm sorry but isn't that freaking amazing?? WHY is that? It's a bloody piece of paper. In any other situation this would not work. That's why Moms are DA BOMB.

Chew on this. You've had a hellish day at work - people yelling, deadlines missed, mistakes made, boss pissy, whatever it is - you're tired, angry, drained.  You manage to be amazing all day, however, but then you find out you've got to cover for your coworker and work a double shift that night.  Your coworker comes up to you and gives you a sticky note that says 'Coworker and Me" on it. Drawn with crayon. D'awwwww.... You're not mad anymore. You're not tired anymore. In fact, you give your coworker a great big hug and kiss, with tears in your eyes, and suddenly feel on cloud 9... Life couldn't be better. NOT.

Someone rams into your car. Gives you a colouring page. All better.
Someone throws up on your shoes. Writes ' I Luv Yu' on a piece of paper. Okey dokey!
 A friend wakes you up in the middle of the night every 2 hours. Smiles once and farts.  A www....!
You spend hours making a healthy meal for your partner, he throws it on the ground. Says ma ma.  Heart melted.
You clean a room top to bottom and then your friend pukes, poops or ejects some other slimy type substance all over your couch and clothes right before you have to go to work/are late for an appointment. Says oops. No worries!
You have a date planned with your friends, your coworker gets a fever and you have to cancel. Falls asleep in your arms and refuses to be be put down anywhere, making your arm fall asleep and you get all of a few hours of restless sleep. Snores. while drooling with his smooshy, drooly face on your chest. So precious, amirite??

What is it that Moms are hard wired with that makes us deal with all this crap and be filled up with the tiniest of gestures? If I was constantly taken advantage of at work and my coworkers got together and to show their appreciate gave me a colored picture of us holding hands as stick figures and why is my hair green and my butt looks massive and why do I have wrinkles on my eyes and surely my boobs are THAT big and is this bloody thing drawn to scale?? I would be all Nah. Just. Nah. In any other scenario of someone caring for anothers' needs and being taken for granted and used for years and years, there would be no doubt in mind that person should be dumped by the wayside and left behind.  But with our children, it is ALL we need to carry us through the next week of frustration and anxiety and exhaustion. Whatever it is - it is beautiful. Not to mention necessary. When you become a mother, suddenly you are not the centre of your own universe anymore. That position is unceremoniously taken by your children. And yet, Moms everywhere do it, the work of twenty, for free.

Each and every day Moms selflessly put themselves last after a very long list of people and tasks. And we simultaneously LOVE and HATE it. What an amazing contradiction. How beautiful. Being a mother has made me realize all that my own mother has done, and still does, for me. I don't tell her enough how grateful I am and although I have  graduated from crayon colored pictures of her and I holding hands - the ways in which I show her my gratitude are sincerely lacking when you compare them to all she does.

I still don't know how to adequately show that appreciation I have for her. I know it can't be bought. Words always seem to fall short. Yet they are the best I have.

So, from one mother to another - and to mine especially - this is my crayon  coloured picture:

Mama: you are always my #1 person to call whenever I need anything...from everything to how to boil water to help with Grandma Secretan's recipes when I've got company coming over to worries about my kids health to needing a pick me up, vent or good laugh. You have been behind me through every stage in my life, even the ones where I'm sure I left you shaking your head with anger and tears at my stupidity. You and Papa have shown me true unconditional love. I have learned through your example to be a mother, friend, housewife. From my early years asking you the definition of countless words and stealing your and Aunt Linda's books... To listening to you laugh at Papas ridiculous jokes and showing me what a true loving relationship should look like...you've always been a constant in my life. Ho Lee Chit I love you!

To my oldest sister Meg: who taught me the value of 'Ehh! They're fine!' parenting and how to make any space that you have beautiful and warm and who makes me feel like an equal even though she has so much more knowledge and experience than I- I love being your sister. I love how we pick up as if no time has passed even though it has and how we act like best buds even despite the years that seperate us. I am grateful for all the times you have shown unconditional love- both to me, when you've loved your crummy sister even when I didnt deserve it, and to your own husband, kids and friends.

To Dori: even though I stole all your clothes and wrote mean things in my school journal about you, I have always looked up to you. You are strong and defiant when everyone these days are becoming sheeple. You have taught me to carve my own path and be confident in myself. I am so lucky to have you to call for advice and ANY time of day I need it, no matter what you are going through, you are always there. Your hubby and you have opened your home and hearts to me during the mosr difficult times of my life and I will always be grateful.

To my sister in law Jess: You have always been strong and independent in my eyes, capable of doing whatever your mind is set to. Regardless of your own perception of yourself, I have always looked up to you for your strength (from becoming a convert to an unknown church at such a young age and the courage and faith that must have required, to dealing with being married to my cuckoo big brother!) You are natural mother and one whom I've learned much from watching you your parent my sweet neice and nephews. Thank you for allowing my family to be involved with yours even though our beliefs differ. You are proof that different people with different opinions can share love and respect. Thank you!

MOMS. YOU ARE AMAZING. EVERYTHING YOU DO, HAVE DONE AND WILL DO, IS GOOD ENOUGH.  In fact, it's better than good enough. Don't let anyone- not other moms, other non-moms, and least of all not Pinterest or FB or any other stupid viral site make you feel you should be doing more than you are already doing - the BEST thing you can do, day in and day out - Loving your kids unconditionally (even when they don't deserve it).  

I love love!

I am a wreck tonight.

Not for usual reasons.

Dallin bought tickets for a Father/Daughter Ball in Raymond tonight. He kept the details a surprise from Eva and only told her to dress up in her fanciest ball gown for the night. She has NOT been able to talk to me about anything else. We planned everything days in advance... the dress, the shoes, right down to the necklace she'd wear and could she please wear some of Mommy's special ruby red lipstick? (yes, she could). I knew my heart would be warmed but I didn't expect this.

Maybe it's because I've never been here before so I have no basis for comparison. No precedent. Nada. After Eva's dad left - a mere month after her birth - I always pined for a partner who would love Eva as his own. A father who would teach her things I couldn't, who would be her safe place, who would tickle her and wrestle her, who would teach her math and life lessons and threaten to beat up boys that she likes.... all of those glorious things I coveted with a passion bordering on insanity. No, really. It clouded my judgement. I wanted these things so badly for us that I continually introduced idiot after douche bag after jerk face into our fledgling family unit. Like so many of the dresses Eva and I pored over, trying to find JUST the right one; I held up new boyfriend after new boyfriend for her - "This one? Okay... no. Maybe this one? Hmmm... okay, this one for sure! No?" Hmm... I was doing something terribly wrong. It ended horribly.

But then. Then there was Dallin. Dallin IS my happy ending. It sounds so cliché and fanatical, I know. Maybe it's raging female emotions. Maybe not. But there is something about Dallin - something that he does that none of the others could do. And oh, how they tried. Maybe it's in how he is with Eva. He just IS with her. There's no pretentiousness. No acting. No slide long glances to see if Mom saw how sweet he just was with her and will that earn him any brownie points later? When he is with her, he is with HER. And she knows it. And that is why I'm a wreck. Every little girl deserves that relationship with her Daddy and, finally, FINALLY, Eva has it.

I was always so jealous of what (some) other couples took for granted. The ease in which they were able to give the most fundamental of gifts to their children; both biological parents. It doesn't even register to some as a gift that they are lucky to give, but trust me, from the outside, it is HUGE. Yet I feel such gratitude for the ease in which Dallin and Eva dance together as father and daughter... it seems as natural as any relationship I've ever witnessed.... and I hope it will remain as time goes on. They are both so invested in each other and it has made me realize this very basic, simple, yet overlooked principle in life -

Love is love. Love doesn't have physical, psychological, social constraints. Love doesn't care what your genes are, what your shape, size, age, gender, culture or race is. Love is love. Eva and Dallin share 0 genes. They are fostering a parent/child relationship with nothing to go on other then a mutual, real love for each other with no coercion, no obligation, nothing. It is beautiful to watch and conceive! Their love is just love.

Dallin is NOT the picture of the man I thought I'd be with. Ohhhh HAIL nah. If the guys I dated were... I dunno, fruit; I only dated apples and Dallin is like... a tomato. Like, wasn't even on my radar as a fruit. I mean candidate. I mean... I don't know what I mean. All the guys I dated were university schooled, clean cut, skinny, with a sharp wit and sharp passions. Then along comes Dallin. Homeless. Bathing in a lake. Snowplow operator. Landscaper. Hitchhiker. Hunter.  Redneck.  Duck Dynasty beard.  Dreadlocked skullet. Carefree AF. With rough hands, loud voice and a borderline naïve sense of someone who has little to hide and even littler to prove to anyone. What he is made of spoke to what I am made of - and that was it. Nothing else mattered then and it doesn't matter now. Doesn't matter how many times I cringe - at his volume, his style, his carefree attitude about hygiene and parenting and lawn care, his redneck camo clothes with holes in them and crocs with socks and refusal to shave off that bloody skullet - all of that matters little. Because love is love.

Dallin isn't like an unpolished gem - he doesn't NEED polishing. If I wanted to polish him, I would end up tarnishing our love. All the other men where just glitzed up piles of... turds. They were turds. Turds with fancy degrees and hair gel and cologne.

Finding a love like this has made me a much more understanding person. I used to believe in definitions of love - as some people still do - definitions of love being limited to this person and that person, this type and that type... to what purpose? Little, in my mind. Does judging their love improve my own? No. Of course not. If anything, the negativity impedes it. I love Dallin beyond any logical reasoning and he loves me beyond the same. Love is love.

Love is an OCD single mom and a homeless redneck making a family.
Love is those two women going against the grain and casting off preconceived definitions.
Love is two human beings loving each others souls and caring not for what shell they are encased in.
Love is a man and a woman sticking together through trial after trial for themselves, for each other, for their children.
Love is loving your partner not when they make all the right decisions - but when they mess up and make the WRONG ones.
Love is the elderly couple after 60 years - who still come out to family gatherings and play 'Big Booty'.
Love is taking care of your partners health and needs - even if they kinda hate you for it.

Love is all these things and more.

And so here I am, musing as usual. And off they are, that big stinky man with that little girl dearest to my heart - a part of me chipped off from the best parts of me. And he is loving her and raising her and helping her and nurturing her... and it does indescribable things to my heart. Its' as if he plows along - bursting my heart into tiny puffs of dandelion fluff, shimmering and piercing all parts of my feeling yet all the while sewing up the parts of my heart left damaged, hurt, unsure, scared.

In a world that is going crazy with mindless posts, pictures, gifs, memes, Netflix and chill... where the internet is a stage for anyone to get up and spew feckless opinions about this and that, and what is acceptable and what is not... scrolling and scrolling to find just that perfect outrage to get worked up over... can't we just go back to the basics? Instead of going OUT OUT OUT - let's look back in. To our own families. Our own loves.

I love my loves. Even when - scratch that - ESPECIALLY when they are imperfect.

And I know you all do too. :)