I Believe in Santa Claus

If you've been reading long, you're probably sick of hearing me spout off with anti-consumerism rhetoric. At this time of year, consumerism and commercialization run amok, driving people like me crazy. And while I can't stand the commercialization of Christmas, I do firmly believe in the goodness of Santa Claus and I hope to pass his legacy down to my kids.

The Gift of Santa Claus

I was a firm believer in Santa Claus as a kid. There was nothing anyone said that could shake me. When at last my brother insisted that I "have the Santa Claus talk with Dad," it was the longest treatise on the mythos of Santa that I had ever heard and, in my youth, absolutely void of entertainment. It was void of another startling fact, considering the purpose of the conversation: never once did he say "There is no Santa Claus."

The way I remember it, and the 23 years may have gotten in the way a little, the whole thing boiled down to the fact that there wasn't a fat guy in a red suit who comes down the chimney, but that Santa was very real.

It's a point of view that I still embrace. I think of Santa as a powerful metaphor for kids; he's a way to show the specialness and magic of the holiday season in a way that they can easily understand. Explaining to kids why it is that we search for warmth in the society of each other during those long winter nights and how we set aside this time of year to explore the power of family is kind of hard to do with a two-year-old. But Santa is a specialness that they can easily grasp and willingly understand.

To me, Santa is indeed very holy. He is a symbol of the goodness and generosity within ourselves, an embodiment of that which we hold dear in each other, made digestible for the youngest members of our family and shown without cynicism or illusion.

Ultimately, he is the bow tied around the gift of the season; they will unwrap the present when they are old enough to understand what it is he has been covering within all those years.

The Commercialization of Santa Claus

And because I so firmly believe in the magic of Santa, I can't stand the endless interpretations of him into the cannon of consumerism. Even that which we hold most dear--and maybe especially that which we hold most dear--can be twisted into a sales pitch. No matter what religious traditions you hold (December 25th birthdays: Jesus, Horus, Zarathustra, Vishnu, Sol Invictus, Odin, and countless others), your very beliefs are exploited for store sales. Even your patriotism is slammed if you're not shopping enough. Consumerism is the new religion, after all. And I think that holding Santa up as the patron saint is disgusting.

I can't stand to see images of Santa used to sell things. I think it's plain wrong to show kids visions of Santa shopping in certain stores, drinking certain drinks, riding in certain electric razors, championing certain products, prescribing certain behaviors, and on and on. I think it's thoughtless and lewd to use his image to sell a product to adults or kids.

Of course, it's nothing new. In 1965, Charlie Brown complained about Christmas getting too commercial. And Dr. Seuss based the Grinch off of his own attitudes of Christmas commercialization and his search to resolve those feelings in 1957. He even wrote against the consumer Christmas during his college days in 1925.

Since the second grade, I've heard a million times that Coke invented our modern image of Santa with their ads in the 1930s. But this couldn't be more false. Images of Santa in our western canon have been identical since the end of the 19th Century. The roots of Santa's likeness date back to Odin, and probably he dates much further back. Our modern image has much more to do with the wonderfully image rich poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas," more commonly called "Twas the Night Before Christmas," published in 1823.

Conclusion

So no matter what your holiday tradition, feel free to embrace Santa with your family. Focus on his goodness, on his purpose and strength as it speaks to that which we treasure in each other. Don't let the profiteering of a money-driven society tarnish something that is so good and true in its heart. Realize, like the Grinch and Dr. Seuss did, that Christmas doesn't come from a store. Santa embodies much more than purchasing; he represents giving of oneself.

Getting the kids Involved in the Holidays

For whatever reason, I've always seen images in the media of people stressed out and upset during the holidays. As an adult, I've heard time and time again people complain about present shopping or stress or family or whatever. I can't count how many people I've heard utter relief at the end of the holiday season.

I think that sucks.

No one is putting a gun to anyone's head and forcing them to celebrate. The holidays are about family, togetherness, fun, happiness, and a lot of other stuff (depending on your religious bent) that is primarily good. You should be aware of the stress you bring into the house and how it effects the kids who just want to have an enjoyable season.

We try to have a pretty simple holiday, as far as presents are concerned. We don't want to bring a bunch of unwanted stuff into our house which is already crowded with too much. We try to limit what we get the kids to a toy, a game, a book, and whatever Santa decides to stuff they're stockings with. But then we pick up an extra thing here or there. And then our families send presents. So we do end up having an obscene amount of gifts under the tree.

I want my kids to feel the giving part of it, too. We donate a toy to a toys-for-tots program and let them pick it out. But as far as giving presents to other family members, they just can't keep secrets.

I can't even take these kids shopping with me when I'm looking for things for Mom because they'd spill the beans with enthusiasm the moment we get home. So we try to get them excited about other people's presents through a different means.

Decorating the present is a great way that they can take pride in gift-giving without giving up all the surprise. I wrap my wife's presents in brown paper and let them have at it with markers, stamps, stickers, and whatever else they want. Then, when Mom sees them, they are excited to show them off and take part of the credit for the gift as a whole.

When I was little, we used to make wrapping paper. We'd pick up a roll of butcher paper (I asked for some today at my grocery store and I swear the dude almost hit me before saying no; I have no idea what made him so angry) and make stamps to decorate the paper. We'd cut potatoes and apples into candy canes, stars, Christmas trees, and whatever else we wanted. We'd dip the stamps in paint and have at it.

There are lots of ways to get your kids involved in the holidays without emphasizing the commercial aspects. Cookie decorating, ornament making, greeting card designing, and a million more ideas that I'm sure are floating out there in your family's traditions.

The important thing is this: slow down, have fun, and look through their eyes. Take a look at what values you're modeling when it comes to the holidays and be sure to model them thoughtfully. Presents are a highlight, yes, an exciting interpretation of love and family that a kid can understand, grasping in reality rather than thinking in abstraction. With kids, showing is much more communicable than telling. Don't focus and fret on the metaphor and forget to show them what it's really about.

What to Expect during the Third Trimester

Here we are, finding ourselves in the third trimester of pregnancy. I didn't write much about the second trimester, as it remained in our lives pretty uneventful as far as growing humans from scratch goes. But the third trimester, much like the first, is really hard to ignore; the changes and growth in this period beg for attention. Towards the end of the last trimester, the baby is gaining around a pound a week.

We've recently gotten to the point where not only can I feel the baby kick and move, but I can see it as well. Even with all of that interaction, it just can't seem real for me except in small flashes of reality being grasped in the remote parts of my mind. On an intellectual level, sure, I've been down this road before, it ought to be solid as anything in my mind. But on a bodily level, no, I just can't quite believe it.

While, as a husband, I get the pleasure of watching it grow from a distance, for the wife, things get downright troublesome. There are times just sitting around that I hear my wife grunt or exhale a soft moan. When I ask her what's wrong, the answer is usually that the baby kicked her in her stomach or bladder. And the baby isn't used to arbitrary distinctions like "day" or "night."

We're also at the point where the lost hours of sleep seem to manifest themselves as trips to the bathroom. Before we leave the house, my wife pees. When we get to the store, she pees. Before we leave the store, pee. At the restaurant, there may be 3 begrudging trips to the public 'throom. A husband can only imagine what a pain it is for a girl to pee in the first place, much less tripling the necessary times.

Tiredness. The tiredness has set in completely. Our two-year-old can out walk my wife. And something as simple as breakfast can drain her of energy some days.

But there is a certain amount of collateral effects from the third trimester in the husband's lifestyle. Besides offering support and sympathy during those trying times of discomfort, a husband must weather the storm of nesting.

When I was little, we had a golden retriever. She got pregnant when I was in the sixth grade and it was the first time I realized what a natural process the whole birth thing is. Not only in the strikingly magical way that she knew how to give birth and take care of helpless puppies, despite reading nothing about it, being told by no one, and never seeing it done by any of her peers, but also in the ways it worked through her before birth.

She was never a digger. Never. But all of a sudden, swollen with 10 puppies, she started finding shady spots in the yard to dig holes. Deep holes. Three and a half feet deep. Her body was telling her to make a den for her to give birth in and raise her kids. She at last accepted our substitute of a large refrigerator box and stopped desecrating the yard.

My wife is now digging holes of her own; not in the bizarre literal sense, of course. She's started, very subtly, her nesting. I know it will get stronger and become more of a daily tolerance for me.

There might be a sudden concern for paint on walls, or a rearrangement of furniture, shopping for tiny clothes, and sudden and consistent mentions of "being ready." Of course, being ready is a subjective term and I am of the understanding that there is no such thing as being ready for a baby until that baby is about six months old.

In the meantime, solidarity with the one growing your young may involve what sometimes seems like arbitrary organizational tasks. Roll up your sleeves and take it. Your usual routine will be plenty disturbed in the coming months anyway, get used to it.

The wonderful thing about all the discomfort and inconvenience of the third trimester is that you get ready not only to have a baby, but to be rid of the pregnancy. The loss of sleep thing? Nature's ways of getting you ready for a baby who won't be letting you get any sleep. The tiredness is small potatoes compared to the supernatural levels of tiredness you feel in those first few weeks. All those trips to the bathroom are simple compared to all the diaper changing. Those honey-dos can't touch the urgency of a baby crying.

Yep, it all makes sense. While we're in the first few weeks of the third trimester, I keep remembering that it gets heavier, harder, and just plain worse. The pleasure of meeting our new son or daughter is right around the corner, though, so we have much to look forward to.

ETA: The crying! How could I forget the crying? My wife usually as eyes of steel; nothing, it seems, can melt them into liquid. But when she's pregnant, OMG. She cries when she sees a majestic bird flying by. Today she cried thinking about snow (which we don't have here in he suburb of hell). I happen to think it's kind of cute, and it's all I can do to keep from giving her a hard time about it.

I just can't imagine how I didn't think of this when writing the original post.

An Open Letter to the Children's Television Workshop Concerning Breastfeeding

I grew up watching Sesame Street. My mom loved to watch with each and every one of us. For a long time, it was the only show that my daughter liked to watch. I find the general values of show to be responsible and well-meaning. Especially valuable to me is the normalization of reading; often characters are introduced into a scene who just happen to be passing the time with a book. But I do have a concern.

Sesame Street is a model for all young children. One morning I watched an episode that contained no less than 11 babies (or monster babies) being bottle fed. I think it is indecent of Sesame Street to depict these images. While I understand that the epidemic is to the point where bottlefeeding is the rule and not the exception, I think Sesame Street has a responsibility to show breastfeeding.

I understand that for the most part, a bottle is shown to establish that a character is a baby. It is a simple prop of babydom, along with the bonnet and pacifier. The bonnet is hardly used in the real world anymore, but it is still a basic necessity to making a puppet look like some kind of baby. I encourage a revision of your use of the bottle for the same ends. I find it useless and thoughtless.

Breastfeeding is normal. There is nothing about it that is in poor taste. There is nothing embarrassing about it. It is the single, unrivaled best way for a child to be fed. This should be pointed out to every child in America. Especially in minority groups, there is not enough breastfeeding. Sesame Street has set the standard for early childhood education and programming, and is usually way ahead of the pack when it comes to health and lifestyles. Please make sure you blaze a trail for this generation of children.

Bottle feeding was normalized through the media. While some of these normalization tactics (such as washing hair more than once a month) can be very helpful, other things that have been made normal by the endless appearance in houses and movie theaters can be harmful; cigarrette smoking, racial stereotypes, and the limitation of what it is to be a girl all come quickly to mind. It's time that we ended the reign of bottle feeding as the primary method that a baby eats by in the media. You can lead the way.

Certainly I'm not suggesting that you need to go out of your way to show breastfeeding. And no, I'm not making a call to initiate the normalization of the monster boob. But you can at least stop the thoughtless use of the baby bottle as a prop. Be more creative, be more socially responsible. But don't shy away from showing breastfeeding. Don't censor it as if it were vulgar or abnormal.

While, admittedly, we no longer watch broadcast television, I am a longtime fan of your show. We own a couple volumes of "Old School" Street on DVD and I enjoy the walks down memory lane of where I got so many values framed and modeled. Be on the right side with this one.

Our family Pet and Protector

The decision to have a pet is a tough one. It's pretty permanent, involves lots of work and housekeeping, and it effects almost every aspect of your family's life. That said, there are tons of advantages to having the hairy beasts around, if you're set up to take care of them.

My wife and I had been living together for nine months or so when my parents' dog had puppies. She's a white German Shepard and had a full litter of white pups. And we swore, swore to all we held dear, that we wouldn't get one.

We were living in an apartment upstairs. If we were going to have a dog, we'd have to move to a downstairs unit. My wife had just started taking classes at the college where I had just started teaching my very first professor gig. We already had one grumpy cat that my wife got before she met me. There was no room in our lives for the complication, the trouble, the training. We just couldn't get a dog.

You've already guessed, I'm sure, that we got one. We visited my folks and one little puppy won us over. My parents were calling him Tiny Tim. He was the smallest of the male pups and the friendliest. We caved in and accepted him as a Christmas present from my folks. We changed his name to Blitzen and he's been in the family ever since then.

Raising a dog is hard work. Really! It was three years before we had kids and the most time-consuming activity we had ever had. He understood the whole potty training thing right from the start, but his energy level was outrageous. He chewed things, got into things, and even tore apart our couch one night while we were out to eat. At times, we almost felt prisoner to this little puppy.

Years later, we'd laugh at ourselves when we looked back at how busy we thought we were with him. Yes, it was time consuming, and yes, he was energetic, but no, he was nothing near as all-encompassing as having a baby around. By the time a puppy is ready to leave his mom, he's already more self-sufficient.

Blitzen is in love with our daughters. From the minute we brought Solstice home, he has been preoccupied with them. He plays with them well, does his tricks for them, and even sleeps outside their bedroom door to watch them while they sleep at night. In every way, he is a member of our family.

Blitzen, as already states, is a German Shepard. I can't recommend this breed enough. His hair rests in gentle snow-drifts around the house when we don't sweep, so that's a pain. But he is kind and gentle with the kids and very protective of his home and family.

We didn't know he was protective, not really. He was always nice to everyone he ever met. But we discovered just how protective he was one day about two years ago.

My wife had left with the kids to go to a baby shower. I was just coming home. We talked on the phone for about 20 minutes before I got to the empty house. I opened the door to an unimaginable mess in our living room: the blinds were ripped off the windows, the coat rack toppled to the ground, the walls scratched up, and most of all, blood was everywhere.

Standing in the middle of the living room, wagging his tail, was Blitzen. His face and paws were covered with blood and he had meat stuck under his nails.

We pieced together what had happened: someone saw my wife leave and broke into the house. There, he met our dog. He scrambled to get out the windows and finally escaped out the door, which was chewed up to the point of needing replacing. The guy had already cleaned out three other houses on our street before getting into our house. You can read the newspaper article about the incident here.

Technically, no one in my family had their life in danger that day. Well, I could have come home in the middle of the burglary, but at least my wife and kids weren't there. But it easily could have been otherwise! Just a few weeks earlier, a series of home-invasions had struck the community--women and children were tied up while the house was ransacked in two houses in our neighborhood.

We've loved Blitzen very much as a pet, but it was then that we realized we had something more; we had a protector that would stop at nothing to make sure his family is alright. While he's scared of thunder, he didn't balk for a second when an intruder came in the door. I am always grateful to know that he is there at home when I'm off at work.

We have another dog now, too. We adopted a mutt (who looked like a shepard) last January. Little Vixen is some kind of beagle mix, very goofy, and much more skiddish than her big brother. And even though she's still doing those puppy things that can get old real fast, we're glad to be a family of people and pets.