![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/1QLhhJU:
I got to be Santa! For the first time ever! I bought a bunch of office supplies, candy, liquor miniatures, and bulk-pack socks to put into the stockings of all the adults at this Christmas. (There are more adults than kids. All three of my sisters and I are together for the first time in many years, plus the oldest and youngest’s husbands, and my Dude, plus mom and dad, plus the oldest’s three kids and the youngest’s one kid. So, nine adults and four kids. Thirteen stockings.)
The kids’ parents had already got stuff to put in their stockings, except well, my younger sister hadn’t actually really thought of it for her daughter, who’s nearly two, but at that age she sort of doesn’t care, so we found some things.
And then we organized everything under the tree and arranged it so all “Santa’s” stuff was in one spot, and we made my Dude write Santa’s letter back to the kids because none of them have ever seen his handwriting (and like, Santa’s stuff can have different handwritings on it, that’s fine, there are elves and stuff, but some of my older sister’s kids are old enough to notice if Santa has handwriting they recognize from postcards and packages and letters and things). And now it looks fuckin’ magical in there.
It was fun! There was nearly a slip-up in front of one of the old-enough-to-notice kids but I feel like it wasn’t too bad. I explained that Santa doesn’t fill stockings for grown-ups so that’s what we were worried about. Because it’s true! Santa doesn’t come if you’re grown-up.
My childhood was a little odd, though, maybe– I don’t really ever remember believing wholeheartedly in Santa, I was always aware that there was an element of make-believe to it, and since there were so many of us (I mean, four’s kind of a big family) we had a very strong peer-pressure kind of deal, where the older ones had to pretend for the younger ones, and the younger ones just couldn’t bear to let on that they got it, and so we were literally coming home from college and writing letters to Santa because it was cute and like, dude, the “baby” is twenty, we can cut this out, but NO, it’s too much fun to pretend. Because we knew nobody was serious. And that was, in turn, kind of magical.
Though, just now, the “baby” (who is 30 and has the almost-2-year-old) was like “oh my god can we get this the fuck over with, I gotta get to bed while my kid is asleep because she’s going to wake up six times tonight and I gotta get what sleep i can”. and I wish I could get her a full night’s sleep for Christmas but instead I got her a t-shirt and some booze.
I got to be Santa! For the first time ever! I bought a bunch of office supplies, candy, liquor miniatures, and bulk-pack socks to put into the stockings of all the adults at this Christmas. (There are more adults than kids. All three of my sisters and I are together for the first time in many years, plus the oldest and youngest’s husbands, and my Dude, plus mom and dad, plus the oldest’s three kids and the youngest’s one kid. So, nine adults and four kids. Thirteen stockings.)
The kids’ parents had already got stuff to put in their stockings, except well, my younger sister hadn’t actually really thought of it for her daughter, who’s nearly two, but at that age she sort of doesn’t care, so we found some things.
And then we organized everything under the tree and arranged it so all “Santa’s” stuff was in one spot, and we made my Dude write Santa’s letter back to the kids because none of them have ever seen his handwriting (and like, Santa’s stuff can have different handwritings on it, that’s fine, there are elves and stuff, but some of my older sister’s kids are old enough to notice if Santa has handwriting they recognize from postcards and packages and letters and things). And now it looks fuckin’ magical in there.
It was fun! There was nearly a slip-up in front of one of the old-enough-to-notice kids but I feel like it wasn’t too bad. I explained that Santa doesn’t fill stockings for grown-ups so that’s what we were worried about. Because it’s true! Santa doesn’t come if you’re grown-up.
My childhood was a little odd, though, maybe– I don’t really ever remember believing wholeheartedly in Santa, I was always aware that there was an element of make-believe to it, and since there were so many of us (I mean, four’s kind of a big family) we had a very strong peer-pressure kind of deal, where the older ones had to pretend for the younger ones, and the younger ones just couldn’t bear to let on that they got it, and so we were literally coming home from college and writing letters to Santa because it was cute and like, dude, the “baby” is twenty, we can cut this out, but NO, it’s too much fun to pretend. Because we knew nobody was serious. And that was, in turn, kind of magical.
Though, just now, the “baby” (who is 30 and has the almost-2-year-old) was like “oh my god can we get this the fuck over with, I gotta get to bed while my kid is asleep because she’s going to wake up six times tonight and I gotta get what sleep i can”. and I wish I could get her a full night’s sleep for Christmas but instead I got her a t-shirt and some booze.
