I am dreading Christmas morning, when my daughter’s dreams are crushed. For months she has been confident that Santa will come through for her with what she really, really wants: a puppy.
I have told her that Santa doesn’t traffic in live animals and that we aren’t allowed to have another pet in our rental house, and that, at any rate, it’s not going to happen. But she doesn’t really care what I say because she’s convinced Santa is going to go over all of our heads. She has essentially told me to “stay out of it” and that she’s sure Santa won’t let her down.
Last weekend, for family movie night, I allowed her to pick the movie, and she chose an insipid Netflix flix about a little girl who wants a puppy for Christmas…. and gets one. Kill me.
We are not getting a puppy.
I am a grinch in this way, but in other ways, I’m a massive fan of Christmas and making it magical. I am particularly obsessed with the advent calendar moments, which I recently heard described as “how kids microdose Christmas,” and that is accurate. It’s like building up their tolerance for Christmas spirit in small doses until the big, final dopamine binge. Don’t want to blow out their synapses all at once.
One of my closest friends has started a tradition of sending us these beautiful traditional paper advent calendars that my kids love to take turns opening, but this year, I decided to up my game and get a second, wooden advent calendar that you have to populate yourself with tiny, bespoke little knick-knacks. They take turns, but each gets to open one door a day.
I had promised myself I would take it easy on the Christmas cheer this year, so even after I invested in the wooden advent calendar, I assured myself I was just going to go to Beadniks once and get a bunch of “magic rocks and crystals” to stick in the drawers. Cheap, easy, BAM.
Unfortunately, the reaction to the first few “crystals” was an underwhelmed “Oh look, a bead.” [Puts it down. Walks away.] I had no choice but to up my game. You understand.
The next move was to design these “experience tickets” to things I frankly had already planned: The Nutcracker Ballet, Santa’s Land, fancy hot chocolates, an afternoon decorating gingerbread houses. These were a big hit, but I couldn’t plan an experience every single day during a month that’s already condensed and stressful, and in which the days are getting shorter, and shorter, and shorter, So I had to supplement with some binge shopping — Guatemalan worry dolls, wish necklaces on string, Tibetan prayer flags that I told my daughters “ward off bad dreams if you hang them over your bed.”
Anyway, here we are, lots of $$$ deep into this thing, and while I have a lot of empty boxes looming in front of me that must be filled quite quickly, do I regret it? No. No I do not. I got myself into this, and I will see it through to the bitter, cheerful end.
This morning in the car on the way to school, the “Santa is getting me a puppy” theme came up again and I firmly repeated my mantra:
“Santa is not getting you a puppy. What else do you think Santa might bring?”
“A dog.”
“What else?”
“A poodle.”
Eliza will be getting disappointment for Christmas this year, with a massive microdose of good cheer.
