Santa Claus and Toothpaste Words

Yesterday was a day here in our household.  

An hour-long tantrum was had by one of our children over his schoolwork.  We'd given him some extra chores for lying to us and mistreating us, and that only fueled his fire.

Capping off his tantrum, he screamed, "I KNOW YOU AND DAD ARE SANTA AND THE ELF AND I HATE YOU!"  A snide smirk, an absolutely hateful look in his eyes and a just plain nasty tone of voice accompanied these words, and he was trying to be loud enough for his brother to hear in the basement.  Judging by his tone and the look on his face, he did this to intentionally hurt me, knowing how deeply it would cut.  Even worse, he really seemed to want to hurt his brother.  The entire matter broke my heart.  In the words of our OTs and ABA therapists, I'm having a lot of big feelings--anger, shock, disappointment, frustration and the intense loss of my child's childhood, to name a few.  Even trying to write about it now, fresh tears are clouding my vision.

Important backstory so you are able to understand why this is such a profound wound: I LOVE Christmas.  As a 45 year old woman, I still want to believe (I'll never forget the Christmas morning a few years ago when all of the "sleigh runway" luminaries in our driveway were knocked over as if by the SWOOSH of a sleigh.  I remember jumping up and down while clapping my hands, grinning like a fool, thinking, "SANTA?!?!?!")!  By the time I figured things out when I was a child, my sister had two littles; I never wanted the magic to end, so I didn't say a word.  My love language is gift giving, which puts Christmas right up my alley.  I love the music, the memories (I was 35 weeks pregnant with Noah our first Christmas as husband and wife, and I listened to Amy Grant's song Breath of Heaven on repeat.  I was so scared and so excited and that song just spoke to me--it still does, but for different reasons now), the traditions, the decorations, the laughter and smiles and everything else about this entire season of HOPE.  I love doing everything I can to make sure Christmas happens for those who may not otherwise have it--I LIVE to play Santa (I don't even mind that he gets all the credit for our hard work), and as tired as I am of the Elf,  I love seeing my kids' faces light up when he returns, and the treasure hunt for him each morning.  As much as I dread having to reply every night to the many Santa letters my kids put in the Santa mailbox each day, I know I will miss this terribly when it's all over.  While I still have these moments with my kids, I'm doing my very best to soak them up.  I love the warmth of the fireplace, the cozy tree lights and allllllll the gaudy, tacky decorations my kids choose.  I love the daily advent readings with my kids, and on Christmas Eve, listening to my grandmother read The Night Before Christmas and the Christmas story from the Bible on a cassette tape my husband lovingly restored for me (she first recorded it when I was just a few days old).  Christmas is thirty days of "me time" while doing for others.  I nearly ruined the past two Christmases with my intense grief, so this year I'm determined to be okay because my kids need this, especially with Noah missing.  This is the time of year when every shitty thing can be brushed aside as we usher in another year of hope, symbolized by a tiny little baby born to humble circumstances, yet destined for greatness.  Even through all the tears I cry throughout all of these holiday festivities (I've always been a Christmas cryer though--happy, sad, reflective--those tears are going to come) and the heavy grief I still carry physically, as well as in my heart and soul, Christmas is still a time of pure joy and excitement for me.  Christmas is a time of restoration for my soul, my heart and my body.

Okay, back to the actual point of my story.

At the end of Avery's accusation, and before he could say anything else, I owned our Santa and Elf roles quickly, for Ezra's sake and hoping to avoid anymore screamed exclamations.  When Shawn and I talked about it later, he said he was going to try to play it off, but it all happened so quickly, he couldn't interject in time.  I just did not want Ezra to come upstairs in the heat of the moment and overhear any of it.  Immediately, I was angry, hurt and crying.  I could not understand why my child chose this way to hurt me so much, nor could I understand why he would ruin the magic for himself in such a tremendous way.  I understood even less why he felt the need to try to destroy the wonder of Christmas for his youngest brother.  I can be a bit of a drama queen at times, but when I say this has devastated me, I'm not exaggerating in the least.

When Noah was this child's age, Shawn and I talked to him about Santa, mainly due to fear he'd accidentally blurt something out in front of Avery (because autism, yo)--and, as I learned last night, Noah and I have very different memories of how it happened!  I remember it as a whole ordeal my best friend had to talk me through, as the idea of my child no longer believing in Santa absolutely shattered me:  How to tell him without crushing his spirit, enlisting him as Santa's helper, explaining why his dad and I chose to do the Santa 'thing,' as well as reminding him of the origin of Saint Nicholas, and connecting the love of Jesus to all of it.  Noah took to his new role, seemed to enjoy being in on the secret and even helped with the Elf once he arrived.  And please don't allow Noah to tell you otherwise--he loves giving gifts every year just as much as I do.  He's even laughed as he told me his goal is to outdo the Santa and parents' gifts (I quote, "I'm going to win Christmas this year!  PBBLLTTT!")!  Avery's declaration feels akin to the death of his childhood, whereas with Noah, it was an opening to a new chapter in his life.

As I relayed Avery's actions to one of my best friends, she replied, "Ohhhh those are toothpaste words.  Once they're out, you can't put them back in."  I'd never heard it put this way before, but that's PRECISELY how it felt (if you'd like to read more about the Toothpaste Words origin, here's the link: https://www.scarymommy.com/toothpaste-lesson-amy-beth-gardner/ ).  I'm quite certain Avery realized how badly he hurt me rather quickly because he did apologize, as well as backpedal, but it really was not a genuine apology, but more of a "Crap, I messed up."  We do teach our children to apologize (and we want them to mean it, so forcing apologies is out of the question), and we lead by example, but we also teach them they don't have to immediately accept the apology if they aren't ready to do so.  Last night, I did just that--I calmly told Avery I was deeply hurt by his words and behavior, so I just wasn't ready to accept his apology.  I explained further, as I knew this was his way of intentionally hurting me.  I did not withhold love, gaslight him, mistreat him or retaliate, nor did we punish him (I stress this point because that was how my mother--still--handles her anger towards me, and anyone else, for that matter).  I simply told him I was extremely upset and unable to accept his apology.

We've known for the past year or so that Avery's time of believing was coming to an end, but I was hopeful it would be an easy, understanding transition.  Given how dedicated Avery has been to believing, I wasn't even sure he'd say it out loud when he figured out the truth.  In past years, he's completely thrown himself into believing the magic, and this year didn't appear any different.  Because Avery believed so hard, Shawn and I threw ourselves into doing everything in our power to keep that magic alive.  I never could have anticipated the anger and spitefulness he exhibited last night.

Shawn and I really tried to be calm about it.  Emotions were already running fairly high and anything short of calm would've been counterproductive.  Knowing we had to protect Ezra's belief, but still address Avery's revelation and behavior, we tread carefully.  We explained why his actions were wrong, and discussed better ways he could have handled it.  As we did with Noah, we approached it from the Santa/Jesus angle, explained our reasons for Santa (wanting our kids to have that magic and hope, because we love them and want Christmas to be a time of fun and wonder). We stressed the importance of continued secrecy for Ezra, then we tried to enlist his help.  We tried to empathize, telling him we understand if he feels lied to, but again, explaining (malicious) lying was not our intent, only to add joy to the season because we love them so much.  Using the "toothpaste words" suggestion, we also talked with Avery about carefully choosing our words, especially in the heat in the moment.  We explained he can never take back the words he said.  Impulsivity and the inability to think ahead are symptoms of not just autism and ADHD, but the age and stage Avery is in right now.  I'm genuinely hoping the toothpaste example put things at the very least, in a partial perspective for him.

I know I need to find a way to move through this.  And I will, but in the meantime, if you need me, I'll be over here trying to cram this toothpaste back in the tube.