From the monthly archives: December 2008
After years of obsessing and dreaming, I decided that it is time to take the plunge. Equipped with a little bit of money saved up by not buying too many Christmas presents and working some overtime, I went to Rockland Textiles (think Designer Fabrics) to buy fabric, piping, and high density foam to recreate the Roche Bobois floor cushion. I promised myself I would not leave without everything I need to make this happen. Choosing the fabric and the foam was easy, the piping only took 5 minutes, but then the sales lady asked the most evil question of them all:”Will you make it yourself or do you want us to make it for you?” I did not know this was an option. “No, no, I want to do this myself. I have been waiting for this day for 10 years and it will feel like such an accomplishment. … hmmm ….. But just out of curiosity, how much would it cost to have you sew it for me?” I shouldn’t have asked. As I walked out of the store with an order form for my little dream in hand, I thought, “S#*@! That was probably a mistake.” But let’s not dwell on the little things. The second cushion, which will be made by yours truly, will have character. It will have soul. And it will sit on top of the perfect one for everyone to see.
Fabric by Robert Allen (Sun Magic in Tuxedo)
… let the holidays begin! After trips to Alexandria and Toronto, and one quick day at the office, our holidays can finally begin. I am always amazed how long it takes us to settle into family life where the boys don’t feel the need to play with us every waking moment, and we can actually relax a bit and maybe (gasp!) read a book. But I have high hopes for the next five days. I plan to read not one but two books and flip through at least 5 magazines I borrowed from the library. And truth be told, the Holidays were not all bad. We had some great food, loads of ice cream, and the boys got some great presents (most of them are hiding in the basement and will re-emerge at strategic points throughout the year). And I just want to say how proud both Jeff and I are that our boys still get excited about socks, underwear, puzzles and bedsheets. Squeals of delight. And that is the best part.
Here are some of the highlights from the Alexandria Christmas: Harvard modeling his new sweater, Sebastian with cookies in his mouth (this was a pretty constant sight, actually), and H and S performing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer for Superomi dressed in Swiss shirts.
A colleague of mine came by and asked me if we tell our kids about Santa. (We do). The question of whether or not Santa is a violation of the trust between parent and child comes up enough that I want to get my thoughts on the issue down.
THE SANTA DEBATE
(The opinions expressed are those of Jeffrey, and do not necessarily reflect those of Caroline or this Blog)
Let me begin by pointing out that Parent’s lie to their children all the time. At least good ones do, ’cause it would be pretty brutal to kick your kids ass at every race he challenges you to, to refuse to clap at the end of his dance performance on artistic grounds, or to tell them that a hundred and sixty seven isn’t really that big a number. These are the lies we tell to build them up, to make them understand that they are independent people with unique skills, thoughts, and perspectives on the world. This gives them a place in the world.
“But wait!” you say, “these lies have – woven into the heart of them – bits of the truth: your children ask to race you because on some level they inherently understand that grown ups have significant physical advantages and can almost undoubtedly outpace them. That’s why they don’t race babies, worms, or parked cars. These are compassionate lies.”
True enough, and Santa Claus is certainly a different type of lie because it is believable (not plausible, but certainly believable) and we erect a great social theatre to honour and perpetuate this lie. This is where the adult conspiracy idea is born. The volume of effort we put in, some would argue, is what feeds the disappointment they feel when they finally learn the truth.
But I disagree.
It’s more akin to belief in a fable. Children aren’t like you and I, they’re capable of mimesis, they can become their beliefs – and they can form the world in the image of their beliefs. When we read them stories at night, we encourage them to believe in their imaginary world – to inhabit it. These are simplified worlds where right and wrong, lost and found, friend and foe are clearly defined. Yes this encourages stereotypes, but before children can understand the nuances of a dialectic argument, they need to understand how opposition and categorization work. So we give them imaginary worlds that let them structure and categorize the world safely and apply stereotypes that don’t fit outside the fable (or at least try to – it would be easier if Disney and Nickelodeon would just DIAF). They can convince themselves how the world works, and what their role within it is. And it is the job of the parents to both establish the parameters of this (“You know that it’s just a movie right?”) and encourage this exploration of their own imaginations (“Is that Sebastian or is that a Gruffalo?”).
The Santa Fable is more elaborate than a retold story because it leaks into the real world. I think this is a good thing. It’s positive reinforcement of the power of imagination. It’s positive reinforcement that a world simple enough for them to understand the rules of (be good == treats; be bad == coal) can exist and they shouldn’t feel silly building an ethical framework around the lessons learned in their moralistic stories. Reinforcements like these are important and healthy in moderation (and really how many are there? The Easter Bunny, Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and Disneyland – and are family is only gonna experience three of these). Yes it’s an elaborate lie, but much like letting Harvard win the race, it’s a compassionate lie.
And finally, the most important point. When the truth is revealed, I truly believe that it is not the debilitating trauma that naysayers suggest. At least no one I know personally had that experience. I’m not talking about the way people describe the memory later in life, I’m talking about the experience of a twelve year old actually going through the process. The bubble doesn’t burst in a shower of tears leaving oedipal scars, the cocoon of belief simply melts away. It’s part of growing up. A child’s capacity to believe in these fables diminishes as their maturity and capacity to understand the parental gesture increases. I think there’s even evidence to support this: Children often realize Santa’s not real but continue to feign a belief in Santa for just a little while. At first blush, the obvious justification is that they want to continue to get the gifts under the tree. But I think there is also the empathic understanding that their parents deeply want their children to stay children. The castration anxiety works both ways: child to parent and parent to child. By joining the parents behind the curtain is a clear moment of growing up. It is the end of the era when parents can inspire the sort of wonder that makes little eyes sparkle and jaws go agape. This is a painful book for a parent to close, and the children are now mature enough to empathize with this (even if they don’t fully understand it). And so, I think the small deception children commit, the faux extension of the believing in Santa, is a reciprocal lie to protect the parents to let them be the protective and inspirational parents they want to be just a little bit longer. Parents are asking, “Five more minutes, okay?” and the child, for perhaps the first time in their lives, is looking over, smiling and saying, “Okay.”
ADDENDUM
I don’t want anyone to think my position here is that Santa is the shizznick. He’s not. He’s also an overbearing brute who can scare children into guilt. Santa Claus is the very embodiment of the panopticon:
He sees you when you’re sleeping,
He knows when you’re awake.
He knows when you’ve been bad or good
so be good for goodness sake.
The all seeing ever watching eye of judgement isn’t really something I want to encourage (although watching our kids, I sometimes understand the appeal). It can be a terrifying thought for a kid. Indeed, this year Harvard had convinced himself and dramatically expressed his disappointment that he wouldn’t be getting presents from Santa this year because of a spout of being bad at daycare earlier in the fall. He’s also asked me a few times when I lie down with him at night if Santa is watching right now. Thankfully kids have a short memory and stronger impulses to be kids, so this will be cleared up by Harv’s birthday. I’m not really that concerned.
You have to look closely, but there are tears on H’s face. He is not crying because I tried to take the iPod away, he has tears running down his face because he is concentrating so hard that he forgets to blink. Oh, and sitting in front of the heating vent has become an obsession of his too. He definitely gets that from my side of the family. My brother almost burnt our house down because he was blowing hot air at himself with a hair dryer… he was under his duvet cover and fell asleep.
… is half the pain. We have had a few conversations/emails/blog entries from friends whose kids awake at some ungodly hour (and some for the third time). Here is the scene in our household between 5:30 am and 6 am. It is not that I am saying it never gets better, it is just that it will take a few years. But I hear that teenagers will sleep in all morning as long as you let them party at night. Keep that in mind for the future.
Last Saturday was Open House at the ballet school. We finally got to see what Harvard was up to behind closed doors these last few months. I love seeing him dancing (and I am so glad that all of this is his idea and not mine!); I guess deep down I would have liked to be a ballerina too. But as Jessica knows only too well, purple clouds and I just don’t get along. Anyway, he’s amazing and I hope he still likes ballet when he grows up. If nothing else, it’ll improve both his soccer skills and his chances to get the girl (or boy).
Degas, eat your heart out
Sebastian’s response when asked if he wanted to take ballet too was a well-considered, “No.” Now why does that not surprise me?
Smile!
Googly Eyes
Today was Harvard’s Class Christmas Concert. Harvard (not pictured above) put on his reindeer headgear and let the music flow like a cacophonous river through the room. Just kidding, when you have more than three kids trying to sing a song together, no individual angel’s voice can take credit for the result. Without a doubt, the hit of the show was “The Reindeer Hokey Pokey” which climaxed with the herd putting their tails in and shaking it all about.
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I write a post like this every year. It usually goes something like: “I can’t believe how much the boys love shoveling snow… bla, bla, bla.” What I neglected to mention is that ‘shoveling’ really referred to moving miniscule amounts of snow around a two feet radius. Now, however, they (yes, even Sebastian in his slow but steady manner) have graduated to actually moving snow from undesirable places to a pile that will at one point get picked up by our friends from the city. And that is called progress.
It is just my luck that the first snow storm of the year happens on the day I fly to Toronto. I am a nervous flyer on the best of days, but when airplanes have to be de-iced before take off I am a wreck. But, as always, I made it in one piece (Porter rocks – sorry, Toronto Islands) and got to spend two hectic days working, reading, watching cable, and eating great food. And, I even got to see Morgen and Jessica, which was a rare treat! In the meantime, Ottawa got two feet of snow and I promised the boys that I would take them sledding tonight. I can’t wait.
[The picture below was requested by H and S.]
It is still early, but today has already been an exciting day in our house. It is no secret that Harvard and Sebastian like school. Sebastian is already in training for his first day in school, learning his letters and numbers, while Harvard has moved on from the boredom of daycare and amazes us ever yday with new things he learned. Lately, the kindergarteners have been working on phonics and Harv is dying to learn to read. So yesterday, we picked out I like School, a very repetitive and simple book, and we read. Harvard caught on pretty quickly and every word he would get stuck on Sebastian would spell out for him (yep, that one likes to show off too!). This morning, Harvard was so proud when he came to our bedroom and read his first book to Jeff almost without help. I give him a year and he’ll be reading everything. How much fun is this!
