And every year at Christmastime, his mom would give her kids gifts from Mrs. Claus.
Right?
She's obviously brilliant.
And she told her husband that Mrs. Claus was a neighbor or acquaintance or someone she knew from when they lived back east.
Seriously.
And to the best of my recollection, on the rare occasion that the husband questioned, then she was like "Honey, you remember! The lovely neighbor Mrs. Claus!" and that was the end of it. He blew it off...whatever.
I'm giving credit to my ex-boyfriend's mother on this Mrs. Claus thing up front because I had a major plagiarism case in my classroom last year, and I'm a firm believer in citing my sources. And while I have a lot to say about the major plagiarism case, I'm not saying anything because I really love the teaching gig I've had since 2002.
For the past year or so my family has been letting go of the traditional approaches to the holidays, and let's face it, we all know women have been running the show around purchases for Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever holiday families celebrate. Women. And Mrs. Claus has been a silent partner too goddamn long.
My family celebrates Christmas, and not in the religious sense. We celebrate simply being together and yes, we do Santa. It's part of having a child who is chronologically 12, but developmentally 5. We will likely always do Santa....
Honestly, I put a lot into the Solstice, living up here at 48.12* N, and 123.43* W where the sun was up from 8:01 am till 4:22 pm on December 21. Each day after the solstice, the sun is up for a little longer. Let there be light.
In my house, we celebrate Christmas. And we're fine to say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and, really, I, like a growing number of Americans, don't give really care what kind of greeting you say, just be kind when you say it. For reals.
But, here's the deal, the Santa I was taught to love is an old white dude who's been given credit for the work of others for a few hundred years. And, honestly, Mrs. Claus has been getting the shaft, if you will, about this whole thing. I'll let Miss Granger deal with the elves, yo. That's not my jam...
As a feminist, my heart belongs to Mrs. Claus, because I, like many women I know who happen to also be moms, am the following Departments:
Sometimes, we call the last two Departments the Bitch Work Departments, because obviously.
Also, as the primary food source (wasn't that shit supposed to stop after I weaned them? FUCK!) sometimes I add hate as a necessary ingredient in my recipies. A lot of people cook with love. But I find hate works, too. It's better than spitting into their food. I mean, that's just disgusting. But hate? Adds a little spice to life. Just kidding. I only add love. Because there's already a lot of anger in my house because of the myriad diagnoses my family has been handed over the past eight years. And, Jesus knows, there's a shit ton of hatred in the world.
So, as Mrs. Claus, it's my responsibility to ensure that Christmas happens...to be totally responsible and make magic happen for my kids.
And, as Mrs. Claus, I purchase really good stuff for myself. Duh. For the past several Christmases, Mrs. Claus purchased a gift certificate for a pedicure for me. Because Mrs. Claus knows I need to park my ass for an hour and indulge in self-care with no children around.
Mrs. Claus has even become so popular in my home that my kids say things like, "I sure hope Mrs. Claus has arranged for the elves to fill up my stocking!" That's right. They are boys being trained to know that women run the show.
Even though my very bright, but young 4th grader is starting to question me about Santa...I went straight to Mrs. Claus: "Yes, actually, Mrs. Claus is the one responsible for overseeing all the planning including the route planners who work with the meteorologists, and then they coordinate it all and send it up to Google Santa Tracker and then Mrs. C gets the final word on all of that. You know?"
A couple of weeks ago, we were standing in line to see Santa at Swain's, because they have everything including Santa, my boys asked me where Mrs. Claus was, "Oh she just dropped him off and is gonna pick him up later because she's gotta get back to the North Pole and make sure the elves are getting the toys made."
Secretly, it's kinda fun.
I even talk to strangers about Mrs. Claus. I recently had a delightful conversation with a nearly 4-year-old girl and she's never fucking heard of Mrs. Claus! Sweet Jesus! That's just shameful. So I filled her in. I think her dad was a little concerned. He didn't turn around and look at me because he either didn't want to encourage me, or he wanted to get the fuck outta there. I can't say I blame him. I mean, some middle-aged broad with a purple pixie was talking to his 4-year-old in a pink pussy hat about Mrs. Claus. He was not gonna jump in on that conversation. Gotta penis? Get out.
Last night, as my husband and I were setting up and making Christmas happen, because my husband knows which side his bread is buttered on...our younger son struggled to get to sleep. It's the excitement of Christmas. I get it. I've been there. Sometimes I'm still there. But not when a child gets out of bed to pee...and then can't get back to sleep...because he's never been to sleep in the first place. Ugh.
Our living room and the boy's bedroom share a wall, and we were as quiet as we could be in our set up. But, due to sickness last week, we've been super duper minimal this year. It was all we could do to get the Christmas stockings out of the loft in the shed. I'm not down with live trees; allergies. And, I don't want to make our incredibly dedicated 4-legged child move out of her space.
Keeping in the tradition of thinking outside of the box, my 4th grade son decided to paint a Christmas tree...and we placed presents under it. He was concerned that Santa wouldn't find our house. I told him Mrs. Claus had it all under control, and that there'd be gifts from Santa and Mrs. Claus in the morning.
And there were. Complete with flame-less candles for the win.
I'm giving credit to my ex-boyfriend's mother on this Mrs. Claus thing up front because I had a major plagiarism case in my classroom last year, and I'm a firm believer in citing my sources. And while I have a lot to say about the major plagiarism case, I'm not saying anything because I really love the teaching gig I've had since 2002.
For the past year or so my family has been letting go of the traditional approaches to the holidays, and let's face it, we all know women have been running the show around purchases for Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever holiday families celebrate. Women. And Mrs. Claus has been a silent partner too goddamn long.
My family celebrates Christmas, and not in the religious sense. We celebrate simply being together and yes, we do Santa. It's part of having a child who is chronologically 12, but developmentally 5. We will likely always do Santa....
Honestly, I put a lot into the Solstice, living up here at 48.12* N, and 123.43* W where the sun was up from 8:01 am till 4:22 pm on December 21. Each day after the solstice, the sun is up for a little longer. Let there be light.
In my house, we celebrate Christmas. And we're fine to say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and, really, I, like a growing number of Americans, don't give really care what kind of greeting you say, just be kind when you say it. For reals.
But, here's the deal, the Santa I was taught to love is an old white dude who's been given credit for the work of others for a few hundred years. And, honestly, Mrs. Claus has been getting the shaft, if you will, about this whole thing. I'll let Miss Granger deal with the elves, yo. That's not my jam...
As a feminist, my heart belongs to Mrs. Claus, because I, like many women I know who happen to also be moms, am the following Departments:
- Planning
- Purchasing
- Wrapping
- Decorating
- Cooking/Baking
- Cleaning/Housekeeping
Sometimes, we call the last two Departments the Bitch Work Departments, because obviously.
Also, as the primary food source (wasn't that shit supposed to stop after I weaned them? FUCK!) sometimes I add hate as a necessary ingredient in my recipies. A lot of people cook with love. But I find hate works, too. It's better than spitting into their food. I mean, that's just disgusting. But hate? Adds a little spice to life. Just kidding. I only add love. Because there's already a lot of anger in my house because of the myriad diagnoses my family has been handed over the past eight years. And, Jesus knows, there's a shit ton of hatred in the world.
So, as Mrs. Claus, it's my responsibility to ensure that Christmas happens...to be totally responsible and make magic happen for my kids.
And, as Mrs. Claus, I purchase really good stuff for myself. Duh. For the past several Christmases, Mrs. Claus purchased a gift certificate for a pedicure for me. Because Mrs. Claus knows I need to park my ass for an hour and indulge in self-care with no children around.
Mrs. Claus has even become so popular in my home that my kids say things like, "I sure hope Mrs. Claus has arranged for the elves to fill up my stocking!" That's right. They are boys being trained to know that women run the show.
 |
| Over Portugal |
A couple of weeks ago, we were standing in line to see Santa at Swain's, because they have everything including Santa, my boys asked me where Mrs. Claus was, "Oh she just dropped him off and is gonna pick him up later because she's gotta get back to the North Pole and make sure the elves are getting the toys made."
Secretly, it's kinda fun.
I even talk to strangers about Mrs. Claus. I recently had a delightful conversation with a nearly 4-year-old girl and she's never fucking heard of Mrs. Claus! Sweet Jesus! That's just shameful. So I filled her in. I think her dad was a little concerned. He didn't turn around and look at me because he either didn't want to encourage me, or he wanted to get the fuck outta there. I can't say I blame him. I mean, some middle-aged broad with a purple pixie was talking to his 4-year-old in a pink pussy hat about Mrs. Claus. He was not gonna jump in on that conversation. Gotta penis? Get out.
Last night, as my husband and I were setting up and making Christmas happen, because my husband knows which side his bread is buttered on...our younger son struggled to get to sleep. It's the excitement of Christmas. I get it. I've been there. Sometimes I'm still there. But not when a child gets out of bed to pee...and then can't get back to sleep...because he's never been to sleep in the first place. Ugh.
Our living room and the boy's bedroom share a wall, and we were as quiet as we could be in our set up. But, due to sickness last week, we've been super duper minimal this year. It was all we could do to get the Christmas stockings out of the loft in the shed. I'm not down with live trees; allergies. And, I don't want to make our incredibly dedicated 4-legged child move out of her space.
Keeping in the tradition of thinking outside of the box, my 4th grade son decided to paint a Christmas tree...and we placed presents under it. He was concerned that Santa wouldn't find our house. I told him Mrs. Claus had it all under control, and that there'd be gifts from Santa and Mrs. Claus in the morning.
And there were. Complete with flame-less candles for the win.
 |
| Painted Christmas Tree with gifts. |
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