My favorite things: being a Christmas tumbleweed

I have multiple personalities when it comes to Christmas. I vacillate between behaving like an angel or a Grinch for weeks.

Tumbleweed Tree

Like a tumbleweed I'm blown back and forth from one side of Santa's wintry highway full of merrymaking and carol-singing in front of brightly festooned, enormous pine trees whose trunks are surrounded by shiny packages and the other side on which all the disillusioned elves hang out and drink their peppermint schnapps around a landfill of broken ornaments, tangled non-LED lights and noisy, worn out toys.

Makes you want to come to my house for Christmas, doesn't it?

But I would warn you off that inclination. Though my tree is up, it only has a few scattered ornaments on it that the kids have brought home just this past week. A lonely picture of Santa climbing a chimney does grace the wall in the living room, but not one of my collection of nutcrackers or snowmen has yet been paroled from storage.

And I've eaten pretty much every batch of Christmas cookies I've made thus far by myself; I need the fuel to keep going through all the mood confusion.

Plus I'm afraid I couldn't entertain you with my usual flair. I was unable to practice carols on my guitar for more than a week because I cut my middle finger on a wicked serrated knife my parents-in-law gave us in a set last year at Christmas. They said that sharp knives do less damage because you don't have to work at chopping stuff. It's only about the hundredth time that knife has quite easily sliced my appendage. I think I'll regift it.

Still....despite my decorating laziness, my scarred middle finger and my recurring desire to meet my husband under the mistletoe, not for a kiss but a boxing match, I've had some truly bright moments this Advent.

Just yesterday I was full of spirit...Christmas spirit! I listened to a beautiful recording of my friend Camille singing in a wintertime concert. My son's teacher gave me a delicious bag of chocolates. A bell ringer for the Salvation Army entertained shoppers with his rambunctious rendition of "The Twelve Days of Christmas". And I spent the whole wonderful day with my husband being scouts for Santa, flying across town from Walmart to Walmart, and every Walmart we entered was filled with helpful elves - all with gray hair and a great attitude despite their long, busy shifts accommodating anxious parents.

We also had a delectable lunch in a festive Mexican restaurant, new to us both, where we enjoyed, not schnapps, but margaritas.

Gosh, just remembering it all makes me feel like dragging some boxes out of storage, picking my guitar, and hanging up some mistletoe in order to smooch my man when he comes home.

Though the Grinch could sneak up and ransack my cheerful, hopeful mood at any moment, the energy, joy, excitement and love that I felt yesterday is what the Christmas spirit is about, my friends.

I'm grateful that, for now, this tumbleweed is sticking on the festive side of the road.

Santa and St. Nick

My honor student/football player son Berto unabashedly asked his teacher before his fifth grade peers how on earth Santa was able to deliver presents in both the northern and southern hemispheres on the same night. From what he described to me later, his teacher fumbled the question and then tried valiantly to recover an appropriate answer. Kudos to her, she must have been completely taken aback that this spike-haired boy still believed, and with such confidence, that he would ask that question in school.

On one hand, it is completely charming that my 11-year-old believes. On the other hand, I wish to tell him the truth about the spirit of St. Nicholas for the purely selfish reason of relieving the pressure on his dad and me.

But then again...the other day I found myself contemplating certain gifts for my children, picturing them by the tree, and I thought, "That would be great! How clever of Santa; he always knows."

I'm one of him, and I believe. The bell still rings for me.

Berto had a debate with his friends about the big guy. They described all the fabulous, most outrageous gifts they'd received - XBoxes, IPads, televisions, computers - and stated that no big man in a reindeer-pulled sleigh had gotten them such treasures. No, parents were the benefactors (or culprits).

Berto said, "Yeah, right! Parents are getting you all those expensive things? They have thousands of dollars? No way!"

As Berto was recounting all this to me, I got a little tense at this point. Santa has never brought any of our kids a game system or high-priced electronic device, so I just had to ask:

"Why do you think Santa has never brought you those things, Berto?"

My son got quiet. My question had not raised this conundrum. It had been bothering him.

"I don't know." A pause and then, "Probably because he knows my little brother and sisters might mess with it...or because our house is small."

Yes, my kids know I don't buy many things, because I feel already the crushing weight of clutter in our home with which I wage a constant, losing battle.

"Well, that true." I had to tread carefully. "It's also not our values, too, right? Mama and Papa don't believe in asking Santa for a ton of expensive things; that's taking advantage, right? You guys get to ask him for three things at most."

"Yeah, but he still brings other kids all this crazy stuff - Wiis and tons of games to go with it, too."

"Well, I think your friends are right..." I took a big breath.

I could feel the energy change in the back seat. Just what was Mama about to say?

"I think some parents must be helping St. Nick out a little."

"By giving him money?"

"No - no! No one ever gives Santa money. No, that wouldn't be in the spirit of things. By adding gifts."

"Oh."

It wasn't correct, but what could I say?

A couple days ago we were listening to the true story of Santa Claus on CD - the one about a certain Bishop, now St. Nicolas, who became famous for helping the poor by secretly leaving gold and other gifts, giving away his whole inheritance. My eyes were watering at the story's end, and Berto said, "They made it sound like he died. And I don't like something they said at the beginning either."

The narrator said that the story was that of the original Santa Claus.

I was mute.

Yes, I want to tell my handsome boy about the generous spirit of St Nick kept alive by parents, church giving trees, the Salvation Army, Toys for Tots and so very much more. I want to tell him that he can be a Santa Claus, too, and honor his patron saint in so many ways, that he has already done so each year when choosing toys for children in struggling families. But, then, he will know...eventually.

I've told my husband I think we should tell him, but my husband responded that he was never told. Even when we went to his parents' house for Christmas the year we married, there were gifts from Santa. Some of my friends say they were never told, either, and they're glad.

Now many adults know the legend sprang from the actions of a boy bishop almost 1700 years ago - helped not a little by mythology and commercial opportunists. Yes, we know.

A little miracle is that somehow, in a small but precious way - even for those of us who eschew extravagance and elves - the child within us still believes.



Three Bears and a Box Full of Toys

Imagine St. Nick (warning: major spoiler)

Short, Mostly Unedited - Christmas