I remember the year I discovered that my parents were indeed Santa Claus. I was about eight, and awoke in the middle of the night to noise in the living room. I crept down the hallway of our trailer to see my bleary-eyed father assembling a dollhouse.

Quietly I snuck back to bed, excitedly anticipating the morning when I could play with my new toy.

Imagine my surprise on Christmas morning, running to the Christmas tree only to see the tag on the dollhouse: “To Mary (my little sister), Love Santa.”

For a moment I was utterly confused. The tag was supposed to say: “To Debbie, Love Dad.”

At first I thought maybe Santa brought my sister a similar dollhouse, so she wouldn’t feel sad. Imagine my dismay as I realized there was no dollhouse for me from my dad. My confusion gave way to understanding as I slowly realized that my dad might actually be Santa. Although the evidence was right before my eyes, I could hardly believe that to be the truth.

Years later, after my dad moved on, I recognized my mom’s handwriting on the tags from Santa and in my teen-aged rebellion I began calling her Sandra-Claus (since her name is Sandra.) She admonished me to keep the secret safe for my little brother, who was still young enough to believe in such things as Christmas magic. But in my jealousy, I told him that our mom was Santa. With the steadfast belief of the young and naïve, he argued until I made him cry.

Years later, as a parent of eight children, I have had similar conversations with my own kids.

One year, when we were dirt poor and had no presents for Christmas, the kids were quite disappointed. I worked as a waitress then, so during the course of the week following Christmas, I saved all my tip money and hit the post-Christmas sales. With only a couple hundred dollars, I was able to fill a box with presents for my kids. On New Years Eve I placed the giant box, loaded with toys, clothes and presents under the tree with a note.

It read: “Dear kids, this box of presents fell off of Santa’s sleigh. It took us a week to find it. Sorry to ruin your Christmas, Love Santa’s Elves.”

When my son discovered the box the next morning he came running into my bedroom yelling, “Mom, Santa Claus is real.”

Their delight and amazement helped me feel better about being a week late with the presents.

Years later, when I was a single mom with six children still in the house, the women in my book club decided to give my kids a Christmas like none they had ever experienced. Little did they know that they would also give me a Christmas like none I had ever experienced.

The ten of them gathered presents for my family throughout the month of December. On Christmas Eve, after my kids had gone to bed, my book club friends and their husbands delivered three car loads of gifts to our home. It filled the tiny living room knee-deep in presents.

When my kids had gone to bed, our tree had a pitiful pile of presents under it. I bought them gifts, just in case the book club thing didn’t work out, and two of the teenagers had jobs, so they had purchased gifts for their younger siblings.

When the children awoke on Christmas morning, the living room was filled with presents.

The little kids were convinced that Santa is real, and as my daughter handed gifts to everyone, I too, believed in the magic of Christmas.

Christmas magic isn’t about large piles of presents. It is the kindness and generosity of people around us,that is truly magical.

We can each keep the magic of Christmas alive in our own lives by sharing love, kindness and forgiveness with those around us. We can offer someone an unexpected gift. We can go back and make things right.

Yes, children, there is a Santa Claus and he lives on in each one of us as we share our lives and love with those around us.

Namaste, friends

A lot of people suggest that the holidays have become too commercialized. They complain, as they walk down the crowded aisles of the local department store, talking on their cell phones, and filling their carts with unnecessary piles of stuff.

They complain as they turn up the television and shush their children. They complain on Facebook about how no one remembers the reason for the season.

Honestly, if you gathered a room full of people, you would likely be hard pressed to get them to agree on the actual reason for the season, because it is different for everyone.

For some, it is a religious holiday; a celebration to acknowledge the birth of a savior.

For others, it is the beginning of the winter solstice; the beginning of winter, starting with the shortest day of the year.

For others, it is a celebration of light and the miracles of God; a time when lamps burned miraculously.

For others, it is a time to share gifts with those you love, as an expression of your love, friendship and devotion.

Regardless of your personal reason behind celebrating the Christmas or holiday season, there are things you can do to make this time of year more meaningful and more personal.

Often times, people confuse spending extraordinary amounts of money with a meaningful experience. The truth is that you don’t have to spend any money to enjoy the fullness of the holiday season.

Think about the people closest to you. That list might include your partner, your children, family and friends. Now, think about what you like best about them and what you like to do with them. What do they enjoy doing? Put some thought into the important people in your life. What do they really like?

How can you invest in the people closest to you, without spending any money?

My son loves to play with Legos. We have thousands of them, strung from one end of the house to the other. I have learned to walk with a light step, lest I should stumble in the dark over an intricate Lego helicopter. I once destroyed a Lego McDonalds with one ill-placed step in the dark hallway.

Although I’m sure my son would love me to buy him more Legos for Christmas, there are other ways I can pour into his life. I could spend some time on the floor, actually playing with him. I could stop and listen to him when he speaks, and look directly at him, rather than continuing to type, as if my work is more important than what he has to say.

To fully experience the holidays, I could spend some time with my teen-aged daughters, truly listening to what they are going through, instead of nodding absent-mindedly while I make dinner.

I could actually involve the kids in the meal making process, rather than getting irritated with them as I make dinner and wash the dishes for the millionth time.

With my friends, I could offer support and encouragement over a cup of hot tea. It only takes a moment to truly listen to someone. 

Life is what you make of it, and that includes the Christmas season. If you are distracted and irritated in your life, chances are you will be distracted and irritated during the holidays.

When you take a moment to be fully present for yourself and those around you, you give the best present of all. You become part of the experience. You get to feel what is happening now. You get to release stress, irritation and judgment and just enjoy whatever moment you are in.

Christmas is the perfect time to remind yourself to stay here now. Breathe deeply of the cold, crisp air. Appreciate the deep clear blue sky. Don’t fret about things. Instead, invest in the people around you and immerse yourself in the holiday experience.

Namaste, friends

I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl. Admittedly, I don’t really know what that means, but lately I’ve been pretty darn happy. Lots happier than usual.

Candy canes, mistletoe and snowmen: what’s not to love about December? And tomorrow is the first day of winter. I have decided that now is the time to start having fun. I was waiting until I got older, but I decided this week that I will start having fun now.

It all started with the Twelve Days of Christmas. Some good friends invited the kids and I along to deliver gifts to area residents, alone on the holidays. Somewhere between watching the kids sneak up to one door, all eight of them trying to be quiet, and driving off without them, I started laughing. Watching them chase the Suburban down the snowy road, slipping and sliding and tumbling into the open door, it was just too funny. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe I’m just crazy, but the sight of those kids running in the snow, with Lexi losing her shoe halfway to the car, trying to avoid being caught by the elderly woman standing befuddled on her front porch, I couldn’t help but laugh. And this was no fake laugh, no weak chuckle, not a titter, but a full-on belly laugh that had me red-faced and coughing.

I decided right then that I need to start having more fun. And then I decided to take piano lessons. I’ve always wanted to. So when we got home, I dragged out the piano books, dusted off the keys and began tickling the ivories. It was delightful. I didn’t mind the fact that I had to step over a zombie army of Lego’s to get to the keyboard. Nor did I mind the spaniel howling his protest. I was having more fun than I have had in a while.

The next day, I remembered that I want to be an artist. So I searched high and low for my tubes of watercolor paints and paint brushes, found an empty art book and started painting. I’m certainly no Gisele Robinson, but after watching a few videos on You Tube, I was splashing water and paint around the page. It was fulfilling and fun. The kids chided me for getting paint on the table, but watercolors clean pretty easily. Again, I was having more fun, and I’m glad I decided not to wait until I get old.

I have been putting off a lot of things, waiting for just the right time. Well, now is the right time. It’s time for me to sing. It’s time to finish my next book. It’s time to go sledding on the buffalo hill. It is not, however, time to ice skate. I’m not completely crazy. It is time to get some stamps in my new passport.

After deciding weeks ago to stop worrying about inconsequential matters, I have been enjoying every day. Now, I am having fun. There are so many fun things I want to do, if I wait any longer, they might never get done. I’m not getting any younger. A friend recently reminded me on Facebook that every year, we pass the anniversary of our death, unawares. Well, it’s coming folks. There’s no getting out of this world alive. So now is the time to have fun. By my calculations, I have only got 65 more years left to have fun. I will wait no longer. I’m starting now.

Singing in the shower? Check. Playing with the dogs? Check. Having fun with my kids? Check. All the fun I’ve put off for so long will be experienced with great enthusiasm, until I am 111.

Usually by this time of year, I am tired. Exhausted, actually. But after deciding to stop worrying and have fun, I feel energized. I feel ready to take on the world. It’s not that I’m not tired. I live a life of chronic sleep deprivation. But what I am is excited, energized and ready to live my life.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year to start having fun, to start celebrating this journey we call life, and to meet the day with unbridled enthusiasm. Every day is full of unlimited possibility. Don’t wait, have fun. And I wish every one of you a Merry Christmas and a blessed and prosperous New Year.

Namaste, friends