I was nine years old and no longer believed in Santa Claus, but mom my was determined to keep me believing in him that year. My sisters and I were in the living room playing while my Dad supervised. My Mom was downstairs for quite awhile and hindsight I know she was wrapping presents.
I don’t remember who, but one of them said “What was that?” “Did you hear that?” I hadn’t hear anything, but curiosity go the best of me. We all opened the doors to find presents piled high on the semi-circular stairway leading up to the landing in front of our door.
Her plan worked and for that year I believed in Santa Claus again. How else would he get the presents in the hallway? One of my gifts was a doll house which I played with for a long time that night. I like this memory, because of the time and effort my Mom took to convince me that Santa Claus existed at least for that year.
She recently brought it up and I told her I did recall it and even knew she did it so I would believe in Santa Claus. Many of my experiences growing up were hurtful to me. Moments like these help offset those painful memories. She made her mistakes, but these memories show how much she loved us and enjoyed bringing joy to her daughters.