In our family’s holiday mythology, Dean and I have a longstanding arrangement with Santa wherein he puts presents under the tree, but he lets Dean and I fill the stockings. We have a similar arrangement with the Easter Bunny letting us fill the baskets, and it makes life a little easier to have less secrecy to have to maintain. I have almost no sentimentality about the Easter Bunny anyway, so on Easter I’m happy to shift the focus to the Savior. Our story about Santa is that he works for Jesus, and then when the kids are around seven or eight years old and showing curiosity, we let them in on the secret that we, in turn, work for Santa .
Last night I noticed that, whereas the other kids had long-since emptied their Christmas stockings, Henry’s was nearly untouched (we were out of town for the three days following Christmas, or I’m sure this couldn’t have happened). This morning Henry discovered his stocking, and was showing me some of his loot.
Henry: “Mom, look at this!”
Me: “Wow, a robot sticker book?”
Henry: “Yeah! I like obots! That was so nice of Santa to give this to me.”
Me: “Yeah! Actually, Daddy gave that to you.”
Henry: “Oh. Santa gived it to Daddy, and Daddy gived it to me!”