No, under the Christmas tree this morning will be nothing, and I’m not a mother echidna.
When my daughter wakes up the morning after Christmas, she won’t run to see what brought her to Santa at night. There will be neither enthusiastic unboxing, no tears, due to the fact that not in the box revealed her favorite dragons Decimals.
We will not have a long wish list for the chubby stranger living somewhere in the North pole.
Will be no stockings with candy, no prancing elf, which you never see because he never stands on the damn place and he’s still got so much to do, so much to do.
No, instead we’ll enjoy Breakfast looking at us decorated the tree. Last Sunday you covered it with garlands and argued, not too much purple in the pattern, and adding a sequin? We have much to be proud of, we did it together.
And if she asks me about Santa (and she will ask, because in kindergarten this year especially hard to tell doctrine about the large man to the deer), I answer that it is.
I will say that my daughter was a good girl and Santa knows about it. Santa thanked her that she had donated their gifts to the poor kids.
No, it’s not a war on the Christmas tradition. This reconciliation with what we already have.
Honestly, when I became a mother, I introduced the policy of “non-donation”, which is particularly difficult to adhere to on her birthdays and holidays.
I find it difficult to explain to the grandparents on both sides, as well as uncles and aunts, my Satya has everything she could dream of.
The Dollhouse? Here it is. Veterinary clinic? Please. Hospital gown, thermometers and 10 sick puppies available. A play kitchen? Is. Appliances made of stainless steel and utensils better than I am. And this is not the whole list.
So I strongly oppose to turn a Christmas or birthday in the arrival of a fucking dump truck pojarkova gifts that we give without asking, despite our warning, we donate to the children’s Fund for orphans or children with cancer.
I think I now appear before you in the way of the Grinch.
In the garden of Satya after Christmas told Santa came, and I quote: “My mother gave all my gifts to other children.” She’s pretty surprised and a Santa and a teacher that laughed at the same time.
Yes, we really gave the bag of gifts that she gave the other Santa the day before. My daughter did not cry, she quietly helped to pack their “for kids who have cancer or who have no mom or dad”. She formulated.
My Satya feels magical, sharing the feast with those who miss him. She feels a helper of Santa Claus, and our house is littered with toys, in which there is no time to play.
No, I’m not a mother, echidna, and do not deprive your child of toys, because nuts to parent.
I wish my girl was happy. But happiness depends not from the mountain of gifts, and not from the completed list.
Of course, I am aware that when she will grow, she will begin to compare our traditions with those of other families. Maybe she’ll want to celebrate like other kids, and then I will review its policy.
But while I want to teach her how to enjoy life, not things. And see the gifts in everything, not just toys. And be happy, making someone happy.
In the end, being Santa better than waiting for Santa.
According to the materials of goodhousekeeping