Keeping Christmas

The tree is on its way out. The needles are stuck in the carpet and stab me when I walk barefoot across the room. It hasn’t taken any water for about a week. Just one more job Cinderella forgot to do. Can’t decide between the tradition of leaving it up until Little Christmas or taking the whole bloody thing down tomorrow because Monday is garbage day. And back to school day. The taking down part always seems so much more difficult than the putting up. The lights never wrap themselves neatly and the Misfit toys try to hide where the kids have strewn them throughout the house. The bubble wrap for the precious ornaments has all been popped by curious little hands and is useless for its intended use. The sheep and the cow from the crèche have joined the Transformers in the basement for some raucous games of Save the World. The little shepherd boy never even made it that far; he is lying on the stairs near the door to the garage. And the children worry that baby Jesus will be lonely and cold if we pack him away in the box in the attic. Can’t blame them really. That attic is no place for babies.

Another Christmas is in the books though, and it really is time to wrap it up. We had the magic this year. The perfect ages for leaving cookies for Santa and being good because the elves were watching. That is the part I don’t want to let go. This sense of wonder and my children’s belief in things beyond themselves. My daughter drags the light-up deer through the back yard to the Forest Room, a makeshift hospital where she is sure she can turn “Glory” into a real deer. Her brother calls him Max and uses the deer’s string of lights as an Indiana Jones whip to keep his sister away. I lose track each day of the times I hear him say “Mommy, I’ll be the (fill in animal or creature name here) and you be the mom.” I love my little children perched solidly between reality and make-believe, holding tight to the magic side of course. We believe in the Tooth Fairy and pirates and freckles that come from angel kisses. We acknowledge the existence of red-nosed reindeer and heaven and a weather-reporting groundhog. We love trains that talk and monkeys that are curious and bunnies that leave baskets of goodies, too.

But I know the truth as I sweep these pine needles from my carpet. My children’s belief in these things is as fleeting as these evergreen needles. Although we might wish the enchantment to last forever, just like the fun of Christmas, I know that it won’t. So I cling to it, as stubbornly as the needles dig into my floor. And I vow to be the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny and Batgirl for as long as they’ll let me. A little fairy dust never hurts, and a little magic can go a long way.