...wearing an extra long shirt.

I had a softball game last night, the first of the season. We hadn’t received our shirts yet, so I wore an old jersey with an extra long shirt under it, you know, so I can change into my new shirt w/out flashing anyone, and a pair of my favorite new Capri’s. Favorite because they have such a great light weight fabric that is both strong (in case I have to slide) and comfortable (for running, bending, stretching for the ball… you get the drift).

So, I’m playing away, minding my business and I keep feeling this draft in the zipper area of my pants. I checked it probably five or six times, but it was always zipped up, so I chalk it up to the breezy light-weight fabric and kept going. Then, about the second or third inning a grounder came my way, I went to scoop it up and run for the base and that’s when I heard it:

Rrrrrrrip

HUH?!? For real? I reach down and feel near my zipper, but it’s still up. That’s when I feel it, right NEXT to the zipper… the now 3 inch hole where the stitching either didn’t catch or has now come apart and all of my running, bending and stretching for the ball is only helping to make the seam unravel more quickly.

I pull my EXTRA LONG SHIRT down and keep on playing.

Internal dialog: I'm glad I have this shirt on.

3 outs… I head for the dugout. I go off to a corner, lift up my shirt and discover that 3 inches has now become 4 and I have no pins or any way to stop it from unraveling more. I quickly pull my shirt back down, let out a panicked giggle and pray for quick innings.

Internal dialog: I'm SO glad I have this shirt on.

Fourth inning. Several plays to first later, I hear it again:

Rrrrrrrip

More nervous laughter.

3 outs… back to the dugout. 6 inches. (yes, I’m serious… no, I’m not exaggerating). Now not only has it pulled completely away from the zipper, but is now TEARING down my right leg. I can’t keep it to myself any longer and flash the hole to a couple of girls on the team…

“Check this out! Can you believe this?!?”

Loud laughter from all who see.

"It's a good thing you have that long shirt on underneath."

More innings. More at bats. More of the sound that has become worse than fingernails on a chalkboard:

Rrrrrrip

Internal dialog: I am SO SO glad I have this shirt on.

I finally make it home and check out the damage in the mirror… the tear in my pants has extended an additional 5-6 inches from the bottom of my zipper, down my right leg and is a good 2 inches LOWER than the crotch of my pants.

There’s just something about wearing an extra long shirt.

finding out who Santa REALLY is...

The oldest of my nieces and nephews is my nine year-old niece, Saige. She cornered me on Christmas Eve at my Mom's house.

"Ang, is there really a Santa Clause?"
"Well, what do you think?"
"No."
"Why do you think that?"
"My Mom said so."

I admit I wasn't totally surprised as she'd tried to ask the same question the week before. So, I'd been trying desperately to think of how to answer her. On the drive up to my parents I thought of several different ways I could answer her. I knew she desperately wanted to believe that there was a fat old man who lived at the North Pole with his magic elves and reindeer who could deliver presents to all the children in the entire world. I wanted her to keep believing as well. I wanted her to maintain her innocence for as long as possible, to believe in the magic of Santa and all that he represents.

I remembered a story in a book I read once, about a child asking his Aunt the same question, if she believed in Santa. She, being much wiser than I, saw a flag blowing in the distance and asked him what it meant to him, what he thought of when he saw the flag. And went on to explain to him how Santa is like the flag of Christmas, how it represents an ideal.

I tried to use the same explanation for Saige, but I could see in her eyes that it was simply not working. I decided I had to get real with Saige, and I told her something personal, something real, something from ME.

I told her how just a few nights earlier I'd come home from a dinner party with some friends, and how on my door step was a bag with some presents inside. All the tags on the presents said the same thing, "To: Ang, From: Santa". I told her how inside were two wrapped gifts and a gift bag, and that inside the gift bag were several gift cards for gas and groceries and a few other fun things. I explained that not having a job right now was really scary for me and I wasn't sure how I was going to get money to pay all my bills.

I told her that somewhere there was a someone who knew I was going through a hard time and who cared about me and wanted to help me. Not only did they want to help, but they didn't want me to know who was helping me. I told her THAT is what Santa represented. How just as she believed that the flag stood for freedom, that Santa represented love and giving and all that is good inside of people.

Then I explained that maybe Santa wasn't a fat man who lived with elves at the North Pole, but that Santa was real. Santa might be her Mom or Dad, Grandma or Grandpa, or it might even be her. That as long as there was people in the world who were loving and kind and thoughtful that Santa would exist.

I have no idea who my Santa was this Christmas, but I know that I'm grateful. How I pray that He who is the Giver of ALL things will bless them for their sacrifice, for their kindness, for their love. So, Santa, whoever you are, thank you, from both me and from Saige.

There's just something about finding out who Santa REALLY is.