Santa broke into our house a little early this year. To a 3 year old boy who had never heard of Santa until less than a month ago, this was okay, especially since he lacks hard notions about constructs of time (we measure days in number of “sleeps,” so when he asks if we’re going to go skiing, or see the grandparents, or go on an airplane, I’ll say “Yes” and he’ll say “Sleep first?” which means tomorrow, and I’ll say “No, sleep one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” and continue counting, often up to fifty and beyond to impress upon him that something is far away. And then we’ll both sigh.)
The countdown to Santa began last week. “Sleep one, two, three, four, five…” He asked me every day for an updated count. I was unsure if I wanted to perpetuate the Santa myth at first; I feared he would question why Santa would bring him presents now, but in Ethiopia, he never owned a single toy. But I realize that his life here is filled with so many material advantages — cars, televisions, computers, bicycles, indoor heating and plumbing — that any cognitive dissonance between being visited by a man who will come through our fireplace in the middle of the night bearing presents and being half-starved in Ethiopia is par for the course in his 3 year old brain.
So last night before bed, I told him “Little Boy, when Santa brings us the presents, he will be very hungry. We need to leave out some food.” He looked at me and asked “Yogurt?” I stifled a laugh and said “No, cookies. Santa likes cookies.” (It was luck more than foresight that we had cookies in the house, which I had bought for an impending playdate with another little boy from Ethiopia whose culinary tastes are diametrically opposed to Little Boy’s. That kid lives off of fruit, crackers, and cookies while Little Boy still eschews anything crunchy or fruity and favors soft, savory foods like cheese, yogurt, and bread.)
Little Boy ran to the kitchen to help me prepare Santa’s snack. He insisted that he put the cookies on the plate, that he pour the milk, and then he arranged the offerings to his satisfaction on the coffee table. He was very excited that Santa would be eating our food. We also opened the doors of the fireplace and he was very considerate, making sure there was a clear path to the Christmas tree.
He fell asleep very easily, exhausted from a long day of music class and swimming with no nap. Mr. P and I also conked out. Then Little Boy ran to our bed at 5am, which is par for the course, and I stumbled back into his bedroom with him in my arms. I thought he would ask me about Santa, as sometimes during his middle-of-the-night wakeups he does query about an activity or event I promised him the night before, and surely the obese man in the red suit who we met in the mall coming into our house via the fireplace and leaving toys behind counts as an event? But he quickly fell back asleep and I sneaked into the living room. I poured the milk down the drain and tossed the cookies in the trash (okay, I had two bites). I then pulled the presents out of the coat closet. I felt like I was making an absolute ruckus as I placed everything under the tree and in his stocking, but all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even Little Boy.
Santa has been sufficiently sophonsified
The house came alive at 8am, when Mr. P awoke to take a shower and Little Boy came running into the living room. “Mommy! Santa coming!” he announced, gawking at the presents that magically appeared under the tree. It amazed me how he seemed to harbor no suspicions about Mommy and Daddy’s role in the presents, but if he did, the missing milk and cookies seemed to serve as conclusive evidence. He yipped around the house, waiting for Daddy to finish his shower so the unwrapping could begin. He hugged me repeatedly in excitement. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy…. which makes me happy, of course, but also a bit sad, because I can’t tell if his elation was caused by the thought of Santa coming to our house, or pure materialistic frenzy. I think it was a little of both.
He was very good while opening his presents. He started with his stocking, which contained two chocolate Santas, a small pair of binoculars, two age-appropriate card games, a pair of sunglasses, and an Angry Bird:
Angry Bird = Happy Boy
Mommy gets Compression Socks
Rip! Rip!
He wanted to play with everything the second he saw it. We continually had to prod him to the next present and opened our own presents to each other virtually unnoticed. Under the tree was a sticker book, a magnetic car playbook, a mini-digger, a “Cars” car with moving wheels, and the big gift: a Fisher-Price digital camera. Mr. P wanted to give it to him so we could see life from his perspective. He obliged, taking pictures of everything until the batteries ran out.
Here is some of Little Boy’s photographic handiwork:
All in all, I think Little Boy is definitely a fan of Santa. I’m waiting for him to ask when Santa is coming again, and I’ll have to count to 372.
