Ho...ho...ho!

Until two days ago, my kids had never been to see Santa. They had never told him in person what they wanted for Christmas. They had never been asked by the Bearded One, "Have you been good this year?"

It wasn't that they did not want to meet Santa. Christmas is as magical a time for them as it is for any child who believes their goodness will be rewarded with wrapped toys (but not clothes...Ian hates getting clothes for Christmas). In fact, Ian believes with all his heart that Santa is real, and he is awesome.

We tried to visit the large red elf in the past. Long lines, enormous crowds, and thunderous echos of holiday shoppers made it impossible for my sensory challenged little ones to tolerate the wait. The first time Ian tried, he lasted ten minutes in line before he begged to go home. He was three, and I was pregnant and grateful although a little disappointed.

The next year we opted to send a letter instead. The year after that, an email. And for the last couple of years, we went back to snail mail. Although I continued to ask each year if the kids wanted to go meet Santa at the mall, they would always say "no, thank you" because the idea of actually seeing the big guy scared them to death. In their eyes, Santa is bigger than god.

This year was different. Ainsley not only wrote her first letter to Mr. Claus all by herself, she addressed the envelope and insisted I put a stamp on it. Fortunately, I intercepted it before it was picked up by our postal carrier and placed in the bin of letters that go to the North Pole. I have often wondered how big Santa's mailbox must be to accommodate all those letters.

Early last week, Ainsley decided she wanted to meet Santa. She was certain she must meet him this year and wanted to know exactly when they could be introduced. We decided to go on Saturday (yes, I know...big mistake). By the time Saturday had arrived, even Ian was excited about meeting the toy dude.

We opted for an upscale mall, knowing the crowd there would be much smaller than at more popular shopping centers. The one we selected had Santa stationed in front of an enormous snow globe depicting The Polar Express, with "snow" falling inside as we walked through it. There were several smaller globes to keep them entertained as we waited in line for two hours.

My children were amazing. They were patient most of the time. They were polite. They tried to be calm to the best of their ability (we had forgotten to bring their afternoon doses of Adderall and Focalin). Compared to all the other kids, they did just fine. Steve and I were so proud of them.

When it was finally their turn, they walked gingerly toward Santa. He encouraged them with a warm smile and big hugs. Once seated in his lap, they each told him the one present they truly wanted. When it was over, they sighed with relief. With enormous grins, they knew that Santa now had the information he needed to make this Christmas extra special.

Walking away from Santa, I felt tiny tears build behind my eyes. After nine years Ian had finally experienced one of the true joys of Christmas before growing up had time to take it away. The magic of believing had been confirmed.

For Ainsley, the excitement of meeting St. Nick was on par with the effervescing happiness she feels every time she sees my mother. Santa is love and goodness, just like Nonni. The soft Kringle beard reminds her of Grandpa and his quiet kindness.

I know they are counting the days until the presents arrive. Honestly, I am really stoked, too. But there is a new calmness that has come over our home in the last couple of days. It is as if everything is right in the world and in its proper place. This is the feeling of Christmas I have missed for so many years. I am so glad its back.