All I Want for Christmas

I took my little girl to see Santa last weekend. And as the line of parents and toddlers snaked its way toward the jolly old elf, it struck me that this may very well be the last time I make this obligatory parental Christmas trek to the mall.

She’ll be nine next Christmas.

And so, the idea of Santa Claus, at least the innocent belief that he truly does exist in the capacity I’ve taught her that he does, is something she will more than likely outgrow by the time the calendar reads December 25th again. This milestone strikes me out of the blue as I’m standing in line and realize that my child is a lot taller than many of the other children here to see St. Nicolas.

I embrace this precious moment before it melts like the fleeting snow and kneel down so I can enthusiastically whisper with her about what she is going to ask Santa Claus for this year. Her eyes and goofy little personality (where’d she inherit that from?) are shiny with anticipation as she lists out the toys and items she has on her Christmas list this year: a purse, Jonas Brothers boots, an American Girl doll, and maybe . . . a convertible?

“I think we can probably scratch the convertible, kiddo.” I tickle her tummy and she laughs at her own little joke.

My normally impatient child is the epitome of serene as the line slowly inches toward the elf on his throne. We watch enthralled as wide-eyed little girls and boys in their Christmas best are deposited on Santa’s lap and artfully tricked by the photographer to transform their awe, or terror, into smiles.

Soon, it’s her turn. She jumps onto Santa’s knee and all of her wishes spill out as she twists her hands and dutifully recites her Christmas list. I stand to the side and try not to be sad mommy mourning a milestone and instead just enjoy the sweet innocence of the moment, for the present is where life resides.

And right now. Its adorable.

When she finishes, we snap a photo too. Her wide smile needs no prompting.

As we say our farewells to Santa, she stops and announces, “Oh, Mommy, I forgot to ask Santa for something really important!” She rushes back and proclaims for all to hear, “Santa! One more thing. Can you please, please, please bring my mom a nice boyfriend? The ones she finds always make her cry.”

I laugh awkwardly. I know her intentions are so loving but I am embarrassed by all the other parents who just heard what she said. I feel like white trash single dating mom all the sudden. I make great efforts to insulate my children from my dating life but I am just human. And sometimes? Well, they have seen my pain.

I try to brush off the comment and gracefully usher her to the exit as I smile awkwardly and mumble meagerly in an effort to retain some level of dignity in front of all these strangers, “Oh, that’s not necessary. Mommy doesn’t need a boyfriend, she’s just fine, come on, sweetie . . .”

But before I can take more than one step, the kindly old man in the deep red velvet Santa suit gently takes me by the elbow and smiles warmly. His eyes shine as he pulls me close enough to see that yes, his beard is real, his voice a hushed whisper, “Its okay to ask for love for Christmas you know. It is actually my favorite gift to give.”

He looks up at my speechless expression, releases my arm, and promises with a wink and a grin, “I will see about the boyfriend.”

And I know it's so weird because this is just some old man at the mall in a rented red suit but I feel a warmth come over me that is just plain comforting. Like I just got a hug from my Grandpa.

I am no longer embarrassed.

"Thanks ..." I whisper back.

As my daughter and I leave the crowded mall hand in hand I think about that crazy old guy and what just happened and smile to myself.

For I realize. Well, Santa may not be real.

But love is.

And he was right. Looking for it.

Is not anything to be ashamed of.
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But if you do bring me a boyfriend on Christmas, Santa? Please make sure he’s wearing more than just a bow. As much as I would enjoy that . . .

I do have children to consider.