Better Living Through Santa

I have always had an internal battle with the whole playing up Santa for the kids. Yes, I had great memories of going to see Santa and the excitement of racing downstairs to see what he brought me on Christmas Day. But I also remember the day that I found my Dad filling my Easter basket in the basement...and the fact that not only did the Easter Bunny die that day, but so did Santa and the tooth fairy. It was like a double murder suicide and it sucked. So why would I want my poor kids to experience that loss?

That said, I have two boys. While they don't get all jacked up to go see Santa, they are believers. In fact approximately 2 hours after seeing the movie "Arthur Christmas," the oldest one (7), had already written a letter to Santa and Arthur, addressed it and asked for a stamp. He did everything but mail it because we were out of town and he did not want them thinking that his presents should go there. This same child happened to spy Santa in Wal-Mart the other day while I was picking out sparkly ornaments. He pleaded with me to let him buy Santa a gift. How could I explain that Santa only gives gifts? If the kid is kind enough to want to give back to Santa, I was not the Mom to say no. I was the Mom who made sure he kept it to around $5 though. He was ecstatic when he came back from giving it to Santa and proudly showed me the candy cane Santa gave him in thanks.

So, you can see that in spite of my not wanting to really sell them the Santa story, I am, in fact, a sap. Fast forward to this week.

This same child has had the misfortune to be "blessed" with headaches. This week he had a pretty bad one and I coddled him and spoiled him and felt my heart lift when I saw him smiling again. The next day around 1:30 the school nurse called to tell me that he had a headache and a 99.5 degree fever. I overreact, worry, and obsess over my children's health. But even I did not freak out over 99.5. He got his Advil and stayed for the rest of the day. I started looking at my schedule to see if I could work from home the next day, knowing he would be sick. When I picked him up from aftercare he was bouncing off the walls. I loved seeing that he felt better and hoped he would stay that way after his medicine wore off. And he did. But when we got home, he told me about his chest pain.

CHEST PAIN??? I tried to contain my immediate freak out. I told him to lay down and like any normal day, he ignored me. He showed me what it felt like by punching himself in the chest as hard as he could. "DON'T DO THAT!!!! LAY DOWN!!!". He talked about how it happened at his desk. He told me how he remembered having it as a baby. He told me that it usually goes away (sometimes when he eats an apple), and then he told me about his friend from school who did show and tell that day. And show and tell was about this cool machine that hangs on his pocket and when his heart hurts, he pushes a button, and the machine records what happens before the pain and after it. And my 7 year explained that as he was sitting there with his chest pain, he thought that this gadget might help him understand what was happening to his heart before and after the pain. I quizzed him about what the pain felt like. And he demonstrated it by asking me to pretend he was holding a Lego...and then he was crushing the Lego with his hand. That just about sent me over the edge. We then talked about real vs pretend. I asked him if this was like the spy missions he went on, you know, when he was slaying the meat eating dinosaurs. "I'm not getting you Mom. But I have actually been on TWO dinosaur missions."

I had enough doubt and google skill to get myself off the "let's drive 45 minutes to the ER" ledge. But at 8:05am the next morning, I was explaining to the pediatrician's office that I just needed a nurse to call me so I could explain my situation or lack thereof. The nurse was barely capable of sounding interested in spite of the Lego squeezing reference. I can only hope it was because I had also told her that he had asked me three times for a heart monitor that morning because he likes pushing buttons. She called me back after consulting with the doctor or pretending to. They did not need to see him, call if he wasn't running around doing Kung Fu 10 minutes after this chest pain strikes.

Then the teacher called. I had e-mailed her earlier to find out exactly what the hell was said at show and tell. She started off by saying that she was laughing as she read my e-mail because that was exactly how the kid had explained it. He had experienced a squeezing pain. What about the Lego you ask? Ah, he had been wearing his monitor at Lego club when some kid touched that irresistible magic button. All the pieces fit together. I referred to my beautiful boy as a little bastard to his teacher and got off the phone with a lighter heart.

An hour later the school nurse called. "My radar goes up when a child comes in and says that his Mom said she will come get him if he has a headache." No fever. No headache in her opinion. And Mommy's bullshit-o-meter is higher than his perfectly normal 98.6 temp. He stays. Give him an Advil or don't and send him back to class. I stopped and bought a stopwatch on the way home. It was blue, it had buttons, and he could wear it like a friggin' necklace. It was $10 as opposed to $599 for a cardiac event monitor. Not that I googled it or anything...because I would never do that.

No complaints of chest pain that night and one admission of I just wanted to go home today so I went to the nurse. He wore his stopwatch to school around his neck today.

At 9:30am I saw the school's number flash up. I professionally answered "for the love of God, you are kidding me. What now??". She laughed and then I had to confirm if I was talking to the nurse or the teacher. Nurse. "He has his mind set that he is going home. He said he has a headache. Temp is 98.3. Should I give him an Advil?".

We are now several paragraphs into something that you THOUGHT was about Santa. And I am several days into considering seeking a psychiatrist for myself or just buying myself overseas anxiety meds. So let me tie the bow on the package for you. Tonight my children went to bed and found something...someone actually, in their room. He is an Elf. He was sitting on a shelf. And we named him Steve. I explained to my kids (and the book that magically appeared with him confirmed) that this creature's mission in life is to rat my kids out to Santa when they are not being good. And what does that mean? That means going to the nurse and lying that you are sick because you want to go home and hang out.

So now I will wholeheartedly sell the whole Santa, elf, reindeer, north pole legend for my own benefit. Steve has already made his first flight back to chat with Santa. My boys will wake up to find him sitting in my chair. If I get a call from the nurse tomorrow I may paint a tear on Steve. If I get a call next week, Santa may start sending "I'm disappointed" mail back with Steve. I will rig a friggin' good and bad meter in room. And if necessary I will invent holidays and little tattletale spies for every month of the year. I have already googled "short confidantes of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr." in preparation for January.