The Year I Ratted Out Santa
The words spilled out before I knew what was happening. They spilled out like a jar of marbles scattering everywhere. Spilled from my jar. The one I keep inside for just such words. Christmas started out much like it always does for my brood. The day AFTER Thanksgiving starts our Christmas season. We collect our 15 year old tree from the box in the barn. We pull out all the ornaments and reminisce over each and every one. We bake cookies. We listen to Christmas carols for 31 days straight, and we celebrate the birth of our King. Every year I watch my girls revel in all things Christmas, and every year I share in their joy. But for me, it always tastes bittersweet. You see since her first Christmas, I’ve felt like a big fat liar. I’ve done a great job at stuffing it. Stuffing the big secret into my jar and feeding into the fantasy. Why not? I lived it. It was fun. It was magical. It was what dreams were made of and I wanted her to experience the joy of Christmas. At least ...