Let's just keep this between the two of us...

I have been a Christmas junkie since I was a child. I start looking forward to it the day after it is over. I would love to have one room in the house I could keep decorated all year long. I have a doll's house that I used just for that purpose. It entertained me. It kept me joyful. I don't know how many of you are grandparents, but I tell you truly, I am so enthralled with my Angel Girl that it's lucky for us that her father survived childhood. I'm not sure to this day how that happened...he was the accident looking for a place to happen since he learned to walk. He learned to walk at eleven months of age. He has gone down hill out of control on a bike, fallen through a greenhouse roof, chased a cat up a Christmas tree, bringing down tree cat and all, cleared the kudzu from a downtown lot (with his car) and offered to send the Mayor a bill for his efforts. Yes, this is the father of our Arianna. She is my heart. I saw a bumper sticker once that said "My Grandchildren are so much fun, I wish I'd had them first". Yes, I want that cockamamie bumper sticker. I receive emails and calls from her and they delight me. Tonight she sent me an e-mail that read "Dear Grandma, I'm going to send Santa a letter to ask him for a kitten and a collar for my kitten. I want to ask him if his name is really Chris Cringle." Her spelling. She's nine. All this after her phone call from the other night when she told me she was so mad at her best friend. In fact, her best friend is no longer a best. I asked her what had happened, had they had a falling out? And she told me that her friend had told her there was no such thing as Santa Claus. My heart stopped. My eyes filled with tears. And I was mad at her best friend, too. All I could think of was my boys when they were little and someone older and hateful had spilled the beans. I told them the simple truth. When you stop believing in Santa, he stops believing in you. It's the socks and underwear Christmas, no more toys, no more games...no more Rudolph. No more Red Rider cap guns or RockemSockem Robots. No more "get to sleep early so Santa can come put out your gifts and you can wake us at three in the morning and Mommy can sleep on the sofa all day especially if Daddy has the duty (or the ship is at sea..and Daddy isn't home for Christmas again)." So, my boys still believe in Santa, and Santa continues to bring the toys and games and fun things. They swear to me that they hear the sleigh up on the rooftop. I know exactly what Santa has in his bag for the boys and the girls they've provided me with. So, what do I say to my wonderful sweet Angel Princess Granddaughter? Why, exactly what I had told my boys. But I added an addendum.
"Don't tell your Daddy," I whispered.