The Best Worst Day Ever

Today was one of those days that every parent dreads.

Let me just preface by saying that if you have a nosy inquisitive child reading over your shoulder, you shoo them away now. Just in case. What follows may not bother them in the least, but hey, I don't want to be responsible for crushing any little people inadvertently.

So, Rachael has been asking a lot of questions about Santa lately. So much so that I was reasonably certain that this past Christmas would be the last that she believed in Santa - and even so, I'm sure she had her doubts. At nearly nine years old, plenty of her friends have stopped believing and oh so kindly shared their disbelief with her. Rachael also has a fondness for internet research, and has read plenty on the topic of Santa's realness, or lack thereof. 

All through the Christmas season, we answered her queries as best we could, without over-embellishing. But man, was the child persistent. She didn't ask the typical "how does Santa visit every child in one night?" She figured that out based on time zones and deemed it plausible. However, she wanted to know what kind of sleigh he had. Where the reindeer lived. How they learned to fly. What were all of the jobs that elves could hold, and how accurate was the movie Elf. Why some people received more gifts from Santa than others. And what was Santa's email address, so she could address a few issues personally...

I thought that once Christmas was over, the issue would drop until Christmas rolled around again. I was wrong.

She fretted over it. She kept the questions coming. She was clearly suspicious, while claiming that she was not.

This afternoon, she and Milly went outside with Gene and they went into the storage building for something. Inside, she (who is admittedly a tad nosy) discovered several rolls of red Santa-print wrapping paper - the same paper in which Santa always wraps her gifts.

Well, Santa must have bought that stuff in bulk, because I had forgotten it was even out there. I used the stash from the back of my bedroom closet this past Christmas, and didn't even venture into the storage building to hunt for extra paper. And Gene, of course, has probably never even noticed what kind of paper Santa wraps gifts in to begin with.

Rachael stomped into the house, clearly angry, and informed me of her find. I neither confirmed nor denied, simply stating that I wasn't aware of Santa paper in the shed. (See above: I really had forgotten!)

It was clearly time. The questions and discoveries were becoming too complex for me to keep brushing them aside. The explanations would have to be more and more detailed, and that is where (to me) it crosses over the line from harmless fun to something else entirely. It was time to let Rachael in on the secret. I prayed that my girl would take it well. And I thanked God for Pinterest, although I doubt He cares much about it one way or another.

You see, I had pinned this letter on Pinterest some time back, having fallen in love with the sentiment and knowing that I would need to unashamedly plagiarize it in the not-too-distant future.

Go read the letter. Seriously. I'll wait.

...

...

...

Rachael and I share a journal that we pass back and forth to each other. It is completely confidential - not even Daddy is allowed to look inside. So I grabbed the journal and a pen, and recreated that letter. I changed it a little, to fit our situation better. I left off a bit here and there and added some thoughts about her faith in God in the "capacity to believe" paragraph. I broke the rules and let Daddy read just the letter (and nothing else), said a little prayer over it, and left the journal on the coffee table. It was no time at all before she noticed and retreated with it to her room.

A few minutes later, she emerged, both smiling and glaring, because girlfriend has got it that way. I had expected tears, so glaring was a welcome relief.

She had one question for me: what about Elwin?

Elwin is our Elf on the Shelf elf. The girls look forward to his arrival on the day after Thanksgiving, and are generally more excited about him and his antics than they are about Santa. I knew she would ask about Elwin. And I took the cowardly way out, replying only with, "what do you think?"

She knew. And she cried. She ran back to her room, and I followed her. Explained that nothing would change. Elwin would still come, and it would be just as much fun. She could even help decide what he would do next. She asked where I kept him between Christmases, and I refused to tell her. Hey, full disclosure is no fun for anyone.

After she thought about it for a few minutes, the barrage of questions began. Does Santa shop at Walmart? (Very rarely.) How about Amazon? (Definitely.) Does Daddy eat the cookies? (Do you even need to ask?)

And after the questions, the realizations.

The books that were already loaded on her Kindle. So THAT'S why Moby Dick was one of them!

Her giant stuffed frog, where did he come from? The MUSEUM? He was the very same giant frog that used to sit at a cafe table eating a plate of plastic bugs? How COOL!

But...all of those gifts must COST so much. Mommy and Daddy spent THAT much on me, all at once? Wow...thank you!

(Disclaimer: Christmas in our house is really VERY moderate, compared to lots and lots of people I know. We do the best we can, but we're not rich people. However, my children aren't used to "just because" toys, so knowing that THE PARENTS provided so many all at once rather blew her little mind.)

And then, the resigned certainty that if Santa and Elwin weren't on the up and up, then neither were the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy.

But...that means...that we did those too. She was in awe. Completely unbeknownst to her...her parents were FUN! I mean, the Tooth Fairy always, always leaves a big trail of pink glitter in her wake, and Rachael would NEVER have expected ME of going to such lengths for her amusement - especially since I tend to complain about the glittery mess the next morning.

In the space of fifteen minutes, anger and disappointment turned into gratitude and fascination. No, Santa as she had understood him was no more...but instead, she realized a new extent of her parents' devotion to her - that we delighted in her so much that we were willing to go to these lengths to create something magical and joyful for her. We were amazing, and (thanks to that pink glitter), we were COOL.

Well. As the letter states, knowing the secret effectively makes one a part of Team Santa. She is trusted not to ruin the fun for her sister (or ANYONE else), and was adamant that she would not want to do that. But later in the evening, she brought me a folded letter addressed to "Santa, or Team Member", and asked if I would deliver it. And the child WINKED at me.

Her letter read:

"Dear Santa,

Thank you for the frog.

Given my newfound knowledge and being on your team - this holiday season, instead of sending my wish list to you, I'll give it to my mother who is also on the team.

I wish you a successful year.

Best regards,
Rachael C-------"

I love that kid so much.

And so we embark on a new stage of our journey together. She is, undeniably, growing up. She has always been an old soul in a young body, equipped with more intuition, compassion, and forgiveness expected from a child of her age. She loves being privy to a secret or a joke, and craves the closeness associated with shared experiences. So now we have opportunities for new experiences opened to us both, and new kinds of memories to make together. I can't wait.

I don't want for my girls to grow up. It breaks my heart to think that someday they'll be grown and gone from this house. But I'm seeing some good in these hard growing-up moments...like the realization that when she is grown, she is going to be an amazing friend.

Time Flies

One of my favorite baby pictures of Rachael is framed in, of all places, my bathroom. I borrowed the idea from my stepsister and had Rachael's picture made at seven months old sitting inside a steel washtub. (I later had Milly's picture made in the same pose, but slacker mommy that I am, haven't put it in a frame yet. It will also reside in my bathroom someday.) I even took our own towels and washcloths to the studio so that the picture would blend right into the room:

Being located near the bathroom sink as it is, this is a picture that I glance at several times per day. It's barely recognizable as Rachael now, but I still love it.

And it's making me miss her so much right now.

Yesterday, I drove her to church camp - about 45 minutes from home - signed her in, took her to her cabin, put her sheets on the top bunk that she chose. Stayed for a few minutes to chat with the two counselors and seventeen other girls that would be her roommates for the weekend. Hugged her and kissed her and beat a hasty retreat before my being upset could manifest into her being upset.

It's not a long camp, as camps go...Thursday evening until Sunday afternoon. Two full days, and scraps of two more. Three sleeps. But it's not even lunchtime on Friday, and it's already feeling like forever.

She's never been away from home for such a long stretch before. Overnight, sure, and I wouldn't be missing her so much if she was just a friend's house and I'd be picking her up later. But knowing that I won't see her for two more days is just hard.

More than that, I don't know what she's doing. I realize that this is purely my own problem, and that she's quite likely having the time of her life and barely thinking about home at all. But when you consider that I haven't worked since she was born, that I've homeschooled her from the very beginning, you'll see that I just haven't been away from her much. I've always known just where she was, what she was doing and when, and most importantly, that she was okay - physically and emotionally. But now, she's miles away and I can't even call her... Sure, they'd call me if she was hurt or sick, so I can assume physical rightness. I can only hope that she's made friends, that she's having fun, that she's not homesick. (The way that I was when I went to church camp, many moons ago.)

She packed her two favorite teddy bears, Stuffy and Isabelle. She packed a framed picture of me and Gene, one that's she's taken on every sleepover she's ever had, so far as I know. And I packed for her three red envelopes - one for each night of camp, clearly labeled to let her know which one to open and when. I wrote a corny kid joke in each one (that she's sure to love) as well as a note telling her how much we love her, how proud I am of her for going to camp where she knows no one and being excited to meet new people and do new things. Just something for her to have at night, which I know is the hardest time when you're away from home. I hope they help.

And in the midst of wondering what she's up to, the melancholy thought occurs to me that it's not going to get any better. She's just going to get older and go to more places, for longer stretches. Until it's time for college, when she'll be gone all the time and I'll never know exactly where she is or what she's doing or if she's okay.

It's so hard for me to believe that these pictures were taken nearly seven years ago - it seems like just yesterday. Time really does fly, and especially when you have children.

Recognizing this impresses upon me the importance of the (underpaid, underappreciated) job that I'm doing...preparing my girls for the time when they won't be constantly under my vigilant watch. To teach them independence, foresight, social niceties. How to deal with loneliness, peer pressure, major life upheavals. How to embrace new things and, so much harder, how to let go when it's time.

I wonder if I'm up to the task...especially when it's not one that I particularly want. I don't want them to grow up, but it's happening anyway. Lord, please help me to keep up.