Dear Santa

Yes, I know your name isn’t supposed to be uttered, yet. I know how many people won’t even click on this link, because they’ll see its title and go, “oh god, too soon! Bah Humbug!”

But I’m holding onto the idealism of this Christmas like a life preserver.

I have an anniversary date looming. Then birthdays of family members and my own – usually those suck. A charity event to orchestrate. Then there’s the whole negotiating of Xmas festivities with The Ex and his family, vs me and my daydreams – usually those get stomped on, too. Needless to say, I’ve spun myself into a frenzy comparable only to a seven-year old on Halloween night after mom and dad have said, “sure.  Go for it. Get it out of your system.”

I’m waiting for the nausea, nightmares and diarrhea to set in, really, but I’m also thinking that this could be the year.

This, 2009, could be the year when the whole period between October 31st and December 26th doesn’t suck.

No one would bail on my birthday party, my charity event will be successful and well received, I’ll do a lot of productive things, my cookies will roll out perfectly and bake without discoloured bottoms. No one would die, no one would call me selfish for once again saying that I don’t want or need presents (three years running, I’ve said so to The Ex’s family. Every year they don’t listen. They don’t even like me.), I wouldn’t overspend. I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, with people I don’t want to, for unjustifiably stupid reasons society has deemed worthy.

And I could be completely selfish. So far, I’m on the right track, sort of.

I decided that in order to not over overboard this year – like I did two years ago for Zoë (remember the present cave? I mean closet? I mean half a closet full of presents for a 16.5 months old?) – I would put a cap on it, both in number of gifts and dollar amount (and size). So. Zoë gets one big, medium and a small present to unwrap in the morning, in addition to the awesome that will be this year’s stocking. And, I get one big, medium and small present to unwrap (sort of). On Xmas eve, we both get to unwrap one present – new jammies – from each other. I hope I get Scooby Doos.

I’m almost done the shopping, Santa. Which means I’m ahead of you, fatboy.

Zoë gets an art easel (big), a digital camera (medium) and a puzzle she’s been asking for (small); I get a sewing machine (huge), a subscription to Real Simple (obsessive) and the Canadian Press Stylebook for Writing and Editing (nerdy). Our friends and adoptive family get the same smallish amount of dollars tossed in their direction in the form of something somewhat personal and meaningful and stuff; husbands of friends will be appeased appetitally. Zoë’s dad and Grandma will get some artwork painted by her, framed by me – the smallest contribution that I can offer since she’s still a little  too young to do it all solo, but it would be wrong and awkward for me to buy them gifts.

If I can keep the money in my pockets, we’ll buy an awesome tree and I’ll string the lights while she’s sleeping (because I know that I will lose my freaking mind if I try to let her help me do it and that’s how you know I must love her – that I would save her from being yelled at) and then we’ll decorate it the next day. And we’ll go away for a few days, to somewhere local and peaceful and snowy and just enjoy.

If the weather doesn’t turn around, we’ll go up to a local mountain and do some playing in the snow (you and I both know that I mean she’ll play in the snow, right?) while photos are attempted  for the holiday cards. ¹ And if it does, then we’ll have even better opportunities.

We’ll walk through the park and the school yards and everywhere that trees grow, looking for fabulous pine cones to make into a wreath for our door. We’ll create snowflakes for the windows and garlands for the ceiling out of the prettiest, sparkliest paper I can track down. We’ll bake and box up treats for the local homeless doods we see everyday – along with some socks and gloves. We’ll buy her a party dress and get me in one (and I’ll even shave my legs for it and curl my hair) and there will be at least one damn good photo of the two of us together. Like this one would be if it wasn’t so blurry.

See? I have plans, Santa.

But I kind of need your help, to maintain the level of us that I’m planning for this holiday. I need the strength to not extend an invitation that I don’t want to extend to her dad and grandma – like I have for the past two years. I need to keep chanting “it’s okay to want to have your own Christmas.” I need to feel right about hanging up the phone when/if he calls again on Christmas Eve, asking what to buy her – which will be better than two years ago when he just gave me some money to chip in, but still.

I need permission to revel in this time of year, instead of looking forward to it for a few minutes and then quickly realizing it will be exactly what it always is: what everyone else wants, while I’m expected to smile and enjoy it and thank them. And then clean up afterwards.

Santa, I need you to, for the first time in my life, give me a Christmas. Because you and I both know that my dad failed miserably on that front, and the past decade has been about making lovers and in-laws like me during the holidays so that on some level, I could pretend that I actually – for just one moment – fit into a family. I never have.

I think that this year I can. Because it’s all about her and me.