You scare her, Santa

Dear Santa Claus:

I hate to start off your holiday season on a sour note, but the sooner I pass along the bad news, the sooner you can accept it.

Santa, it seems the four-year old in my house has decided NOT to meet with you this year. Not under any terms. In fact, negotiations broke down pretty quickly and her refusal to even discuss the matter has been unwavering. I have seen the arms crossed, I have seen the forehead lowered, I have seen the bottom lip protrude and I have heard the emphatic “NO.” Thus, all the classic signs of four-year old stubbornness have now been displayed. Sorry Santa, but the possibility of a one-on-one sit-down prior to Christmas has melted away rapidly, like a November snow in Oklahoma.

Why? Well, please don’t pout and I’ll tell you why (sorry, just a little holiday humor to help lighten the moment). Truth is, you scare her Santa. That’s right: your beard, your belly, your belly laugh, your boots, your bright red clothes – really all of the above – is cause for more than a four-year’s old concern, it’s also cause for fear. In all honesty, the whole “jolly” persona that you have perfected and that has made you loved by millions around the globe hasn’t been embraced by the four-year old.

It’s strange, yes, but I know you well enough to know you’ll work through this. One child’s rejection can’t stop you, Santa. After all, making things happen IS your business.

It’s been a few years but we all still remember what you did for Rudolph? Once upon a time, that poor little guy stuck out like a sore thumb on the sidelines of life, watching reindeer games from the back row. But thanks partially to a foggy night and mostly to your ability to spot talent and point it in the right direction, Rudolph no longer gets pushed in the mud when Donner, Comet and the gang play hoops. Today, the rest of the pack follows his lead, with glee.

You made that happen, Santa.

And that’s just one example of your skills. Who else but you could criss-cross the globe in a single night? Who else but you could convince a bunch of elves to live and work year-round at the North Pole? Who else but you, Santa, could drink that much warm milk in one night and still have the wherewithal to get the job done before dawn? A lesser man would lose his Christmas cookies along the way, but not you. Instead you go merrily along, up on the housetops and right down Santa Claus lane, over and over again. Yes, you make it happen.

Does that help boost your confidence Saint Nick? I hope so, because I don’t want you to dwell too long on the rejection of one fearful four-year old. Surely I don’t have to tell you that there are plenty of other children who look forward to sitting in your lap. I know because I saw them all in the mall. Besides, I imagine you are so busy this time of year, what with the parade appearances and all, you don’t really have time to address your critics. 

But in case you do feel a tiny twinge of rejection deep down in your “bowl full of jelly" I will close this letter with a bit of good news. Although she refuses to meet with you, the four-year old did say she would be happy to supply you with a list of her Christmas expectations (granted, it’s not as good as a full-blown “letter to Santa” but it’s a move in the right direction). Currently, she is still weighing her options to determine the best route to Christmas morning bliss, but I can tell you now she has no visions of sugar plums (I’d lean towards Dora instead). As soon as the list is complete, we will get it to you in a dash.

In closing Santa, let me just say that, despite the four-year old’s problems with you, you are always welcome around our house. There will be cookies and warm milk (you don’t have to drink it) and we’ll leave the lights on for you. We don’t have any shutters and I’m not really sure what a sash is, so you probably won’t see me peaking out the window when you drop by. The tree will be in its usual place and the stockings will be carefully hung on the entertainment center (my how things have changed). All I ask Santa is that you stop by while the four-year old is nestled all snug in her bed, in the midst of her long winter’s nap. 

Otherwise, there could be trouble.

Outdoor friend; indoor friend

It’s about that time of year when I always have to say a tearful good-bye to a good friend. A friend that I always spend a lot of time with during the warmer months of the year; a friend I know very well and a friend I really cherish when the grass is green and the warm sun is high in the sky.

Of course, I am talking about my friend – the backyard.

When dropping temperatures and time changes come together, it sort of signals the annual parting of ways for me and that patch of land which lies just beyond our kitchen window. Cold weather means the grass doesn’t grow much and the little girls don’t play outside as much in the evenings. Of course, due to the time change, my home-from-work commute typically places me in the driveway about the time the sun drops beyond the western horizon, so I don’t even get a good look at the backyard these days, let alone visit it.

Oh sure, I can still see it on cold weekend mornings, but it’s not the same then. At those times, it’s kind of like the Christmas tree on December 27. It’s still there, and it’s still pretty, but let’s face it, the magic – at least for another year – is gone.

Ah, but that’s what memories are for, right? When (if) winter comes to Oklahoma, the blue chill settles over the yard, the ice and snow covers the landscape and the weed trimmer and I become strangers, that’s when I will reach into the memory banks and remember summer in the backyard.

I will remember sweating through our Labor Day picnic; I will remember eating dust and dandelions while I mowed in the ever-present wind; I will remember filling and refilling my daughter’s inflatable pool and yes, I will remember losing my temper a time or two with that weed trimmer.

Such memories will carry me through while the greenery and warmth of my backyard hibernates until Spring.

But until then?

Until then, there’s another friend I have. I call it "College Basketball Season."