December started with a cold wind, I finally feel like the holiday season is here. Most of my shopping is done, the decorations are up, and Saturday we are going to get the Christmas tree. I am determined to face this month with a positive attitude and all that stuff. Blah,Blah, Blah, yeah B we have heard it all before.
C brought me to tears yesterday. I did not let him see it, I silently wiped them from my eyes. D and hubby were at 4h and we were sitting on the couch for a little TV before bed. He looked at me, sad, and said "V says there is no such thing as Santa. And S says that it is your mom and dad who put out presents after you go to sleep." (At this point his eyes started to well up and he just looked so sad. At 9 C still has a pure heart and a sweet innocence.) I took his hand and he snuggled into me. "What do you think Momma?" That is a loaded question! You have to stop and think. I replied, "I believe in Santa. Anytime someone gives in the spirit of Christmas that is Santa. And you know Christmas feels magical to us. I do believe." He sighed and said, "But is he real?" I said, "What do you think?" And he said the tear producing response, "I want to believe!" And I said, "So lets believe! And if any one says something like that to your brother, keep the magic alive."
I think his desire to believe, to stay in that magical place, will carry him through this year. And I also think he knows, knows that it doesn't add up. And it kills me inside. The best part of Christmas for me, is that magical time when they look at me and really believe. I love seeing it through those sweet little eyes. And now I also realize, they are growing up! C will be 10 this coming June, D 7 in January. I miss my babies! It goes by so fast. We complain and grumble and want the sleepless nights and potty training to be over. Than we want the toddler years to fly, and really we are cheating ourselves. As much as I want to see them grow and mature and be happy, I still want them with me. I still want to hold on to sticky little hands and tear stained faces and warm hugs. A 90 pound 9 year old doing the perfect jump shot is wonderful. But I miss the little baby nestled on my chest more painfully than I ever thought possible. (And it even means I am getting old!) Where has 9 years gone? Where has the past 6 almost 7 gone? When did they get so tall? And when did they stop believing?