Hi! My name is Tara but you can call me Christmas Ruiner. That's the new nickname my 10 year old gave me today. You can probably guess how I earned it but let me start from the beginning so you can get the full impact of my crappy day.
Josie and I stayed up till midnight last night playing Farkle and watching TV. Since we were both about half asleep we decided to have a sleepover in the living room. Which is a good thing because that meant everyone woke up in a good mood this morning. But even though the weather promised us a beautiful day, it couldn't control the events that were to come. Exactly 90 minutes after we woke up, we were invaded. Home invaders? I wish!! No, we were invaded by a family member (who I will call Grumpy) who just walked in the back door and came on through the house without even a "Hey, everyone decent?" Which we weren't because Josie slept in one of her dad's tshirts last night and her booty was hanging out. So immediately she was embarrassed and offended in a matter of seconds. I look up and see Happy Sunday pacing in front of the door looking for a way out. Marvelous! It's amazing how fast Grumpy can clear a room. Within seconds, Josie was downstairs and I was in the Mom Cave. And that is pretty much where we stayed. The only problem was Grumpy has a big voice. A big voice that carries. A long way. And normally I can tune it out but today the big voice carried nothing but negativity. About what? You name it. The bartenders at Trackside last night. Whatever was on TV. The food he's been having at home. Anything he felt like he had an opinion on. It got to a point I no longer heard words just angry sounds that turned into a headache. Eventually, Grumpy left. But I had no false hope that he wasn't coming back. So I went downstairs with Josie to hang out and do laundry.
I had Josie come sit with me on the couch so we could talk. I asked her what the kids were talking about at school these days. I got the usual "nothing". So I started dropping suggestions. What about sex? I knew they had to be talking about sex because she knew more than what I have told her so far. She was shocked! "Mom! We aren't supposed to talk about that until 5th grade!" From there it all went downhill. I told her I knew they were talking about something because of what she told me about sex and babies the other day. So she proceeds to tell me the 4th grade version of sex and getting pregnant. It involved a whole lot of kissing, a lot of laying down, not a lot of effort and possibly a positive pregnancy test after two weeks. Okey dokey then! I've been doing it entirely wrong! From there she went on to tell me that she knows this is right because she saw proof of it in movies and on TV. Well, can't argue with that one now can I? Then she went on to tell me that the movies she saw this in were called porn. She knows so because that's what the neighbor girl told her. My chin still hurts from hitting the floor! Half of my brain was trying to figure out where she got the porn while the other half was trying to decide if the neighbor girl is a reliable source. Siding with the rational half, I carefully ask her about the porn. "Oh just all the shows that have sex in them." Whew! Ok, neighbor girl not that reliable. After filing that away for future reference, I gave her a PG definition of porn and told her it was just for adults. All of a sudden I'm thinking that this conversation isn't going at all like I hoped for and maybe I should just bail out and let her go back to Club Penguin. But no! Why on earth would I do something so freaking sensible?! So....what else are they talking about? Tooth Fairy? Easter Bunny? Santa isn't real she says. Suddenly, I see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel! I press on. I asked her why she thought that. She said it wasn't her, it was the other kids. And, poof, the glimmer is gone. They are all haters she says. Trying out the logic again, I asked her if she thought he could be real. But of course he is! They pass the job from father to son. Logic joined Happy Sunday at the door and things weren't looking too good for me. We talked about all the Santas at the mall and how they are people in costume trying to make kids happy at Christmas and spread the giving spirit of Santa. Of course, it's also because he's really busy. Right?! I have never needed a drink like I did at that precise moment. I realized in that moment I would have rather given the sex talk a hundred times over than to go where we were about to. We talked about Daddy's friend that came to the house two years ago as Santa for her and my friend's kids. But I pulled his beard and it was real she says. I reminded her that she also saw him driving through town once. I tried explaining that it's more about Santa's spirit than Santa the person. So, he's not real? Little voice quivering. Eyes all big and sad. I sat there, tears welling up in my own eyes, knowing I was about to break my baby's heart. Who's idea was this anyway? "Well? Is he real?" And still I sit there looking at the ceiling waiting for the right words to magically appear that will turn this train wreck into a fender bender. "Why are you crying? Are you happy?" No. "You're sad. Why are you sad?" Because it's true. "He's not real?!" No baby, he's not. After the crying stopped, we talked about the presents from Santa and what Santa really means. And how lying about Santa and the Easter Bunny isn't the same as regular lying. (Still don't know how I pulled that one off!) And that's when she gave me the new nickname. Christmas Ruiner.
This week a friend of mine had a discussion with her son about Santa. He initiated the whole thing and really just wanted a yes or no answer without a lot of explanations. I felt bad for her at the time, but now I'm thinking she got off easy. She didn't get a wonderful new nickname. There were no tears. It was a very logical process that her son had already worked through on his own. I can't wait for her to have the sex talk with him. Maybe it will go as well as my Santa talk!
So I go upstairs to tell the hubs about our conversation and my lovely new name and he says, "got another steak we can lay out?" No, no, no please don't say it! Grumpy invited himself to dinner. Suddenly, I feel another headache coming on and an intense desire to get in bed and pull the covers waaaay up over my head. Out the corner of my eye, I see Happy Sunday slipping out the back door.
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