Christmas Eve arrived and the game
was afoot. Reindeer clip-clopped on our roof and a shadow flashed by our front
window. Our children were fast, but never fast enough to catch sight of the
elves who delivered an early Christmas gift at the front door. There was no
surprise to what would be inside the boxes. Year after year, Santa’s elves
would make a stop by our house to drop off new pajamas.
“Santa wants you to wake up on
Christmas morning in new PJs,” I would explain.
As the years went on, our two kids
became suspicious. The once-joyful tradition was now a competition between us
and our children. The elves (usually my husband) had to become trickier each
Christmas Eve. “Where’s dad?” our son would ask right after dinner, and they
would dash to the front window, sure they would catch him in the act of tossing
a rock on the roof and clutching two packages. My husband was light-footed and
never got caught, even as he returned through the back door a little out of
breath.
Our daughter would confront him at
the door. “Where were you?”
“Taking out the garbage.”
They weren’t buying it. “You guys
are the elves.”
Echoes of earlier years came to me
– squeals of delight, small feet racing to the door and the immediate tearing
of wrapping paper. I shrugged off their disbelief, unable to let go of these
memories. “When you don’t believe in the elves anymore, they don’t show up.”
This would result in exchanged
glances between them and a silent mutual agreement to keep quiet. At least
until the next year.
The tradition came to a screeching
halt the year we spent Christmas at my parents. Their sprawling ranch house
required a full-on sprint from a side door around to the front, and our kids
were on full alert. A clatter on the roof caused their heads to swivel as they
determined which parent was missing from the room. The doorbell rang, there was
a grunt and a thudding of footsteps on the front walk. Our kids didn’t budge.
There was no anticipation, no eagerness for a gift at the door. Our son, the
older of the two, rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “Ugh. Is it those dumb
elves again?”
I tried my best to rekindle the
Christmas spirit in my all-knowing pre-teens. “You should see if there’s
something out there.”
My husband stumbled in the side
door, breathless and rubbing a knee. “What’s going on in here? I thought I saw
reindeer on the roof.”
The kids double-teamed him. “You
rang the doorbell,” said one. “There are no elves,” said the other.
My husband glanced around the room,
bewildered at the mutiny. “What happened to your knee?” I asked in a low voice.
“I slipped on the grass. I think I
cracked something.”
We finally got the kids to fetch
the packages. Their expressions were as bored as could be when they drew out
the new pajamas. They trudged down the hallway to change their clothes.
My husband poured us each a robust glass
of wine and joined me on the couch.
I stared into the fireplace and
watched the flames lick higher. When had our children grown up? “I think it’s
over.”
He gave a long, drawn-out sigh and
uttered one word. “Finally.”
****
Julie Howard is the author of
the Wild Crime series. She is a former journalist and editor who has covered
topics ranging from crime to cowboy poetry. She is a member of the Idaho
Writers Guild, editor of the Potato Soup Journal, and founder of the Boise
chapter of Shut Up & Write. Learn more at juliemhoward.com.
Great job for hanging in there! I believe some day your kids will say - hey I wonder if we could have those elves come back? Thanks for sharing your tradition.
ReplyDeleteYou two went above and beyond to maintain Christmas spirit for your kids. Someday they will fondly remember the elves and the PJs. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteSomeday your kids will go through the same thing and appreciate all you did to keep the magic of Christmas alive.
ReplyDeleteMy mom went all out for Christmas, and now I appreciate everything she did. Good post.
ReplyDeleteWe tried to keep the Christmas magic going, but soon the oldest son guessed and told his younger brother. I agree that later the children will appreciate all that effort.
ReplyDeleteThis so reminded me of one of our holiday traditions of leaving out cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. We always held fast to this event, even when our youngest son was a teenager. My husband would nibble on the carrots and leave crumbs from the cookies on the plate. Little did we know that our son continued to "believe" in the magic when he was grown until we visited him at his apartment one Christmas morn. Our son greeted us at the door and ushered us inside. As he sprinted down the hallway to gather his coat and other items, my husband and I glanced around his living room. The placed sparkled with Christmas, including a plate with cookies and a few carrots on a table. A note was placed next to everything with this message: "Merry Christmas, Santa. Enjoy." I'll never forget that morning, and the magic my son brought back to me.
ReplyDeleteMy husband was so disappointed when the kids quit believing, but only because he missed the cookies! Lol. I bake for him every Christmas now. Great memories!
ReplyDeleteWhat a great post and tradition. The children finally figuring it out--maybe kind of a disappointment--mixed with relief. LOL. No matter how family traditions evolve, they're something remembered always. We still have such a tradition--even now, Santa leaves filled stockings by the tree for everyone at home that year. Even Grandma gets one--my teen grandchildren make sure to fill it for me.
ReplyDeleteThis really made me chuckle. What a great sport your husband is. I must say, those elves went above and beyond!
ReplyDeleteI'm all about traditions, and this one is awesome.
ReplyDeleteAww! It is so hard for our children to grow up. We have two teenage daughters (14 and 16) and it's hard to keep them jolly and full of jingle. When they were younger it was effortless. I do appreciate how hard you and your husband tried and think it's a trip how different his perspective was about them growing up. Cheers to Christmas with you preteens!
ReplyDelete