Can you believe that?
Perhaps it was all the elaborate shenanigans that my parents went through each year that had me cling to a small sliver of hope that the white-bearded-sneaky-cookie-thieving-glutton... was real.
Every Christmas eve my parents would have friends over, The Heath's, and we'd eat crackers and cheese, have cocktails ( well I didn't) and ready my platter of cookies, milk, carrots for the reindeer and an occasional beer for Santa.
I'd go to bed reluctantly while the adults continued their revelry.
Drifting in and out of consciousness, willing myself to stay awake to actually SEE Santa, I'd hear sleigh-bells jingling and "Ho, Ho, Hoing" outside. In the morning, the stockings were overflowing, new presents dazzled under the Christmas lights, my cookies were gone, the carrots were munched and Santa had left ME a note.
One Christmas morning, Santa even called to see if I found one of his sleigh-bells he had lost. I scurried outside to see..and sure enough, settled in the snow and glistening in the winter sun, was a magical sleigh bell obviously dropped from the incredible sleigh that Santa had landed on our 90° slanted roof.
I can't wait to do all these things for Dylan.
Right now, Dylan believes that Santa is a picture on a wooden decoration we have in the house.
He will kiss him and carry him around and even say "ho" now and again, but he doesn't quite understand all the magical possibilities Santa represents.
That part is up to us.
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