The Truth about Santa
Someone sent me this story about Santa. I loved it so much I thought I would share it here. It’s a little long but a great story about the spirit of Christmas.
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!” My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her “world-famous” cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus?” She snorted… “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!!
Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.” “Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car. “Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s. I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, butnever had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough; he didn’t have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.” The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible)in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers. Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.” I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.
Happy Holidays and don’t let the stress of all the shopping take away from the meaning of this special time of the year!
stuck there for a few weeks when they learn the reverse motion, until I learned that babies’ heads make up a quarter of the proportion of their bodies! Now I have to laugh every time I look at a baby because I am so conscious of the huge melons they have to lug around all day. Imagine how different we would look if we kept those proportions as grown-ups. No wonder the poor things are so exhausted at the end of every day, from all the effort it takes just to hold their heads in place!
your time preparing and latching your baby for feeding without compromising your modesty. There is nothing worse than trying to feed in public while being self-conscious about showing some skin or some nipple! The stress is passed down to your baby and neither you nor her are comfortable. Bebe au Lait uses beautiful fabrics and a simple design that allows you to see your baby and the baby to see you. Their ‘hooter hiders’ are like oversized canvas bags where the handle goes around your neck. They are a bit large and not exactly discrete but they are definitely a convenient, colourful way to get privacy.
1. Haba Wooden Frog. 
2. Sophie la Giraffe. Made by 
so glad they introduced us to this toy company. Kathe Kruse is a 100-year old German toy company that hand-makes these cuddly dolls that are safe for children. I don’t know about the educational benefits of this doll but it is the most adorable, soft little thing and it keeps Clara company in her crib; plus it makes for great photo opps!
