CARRIE and I had “the Santa talk.” I.e., what precisely are we going to tell Mogs about Santa, and what place is Santa going to have in our celebration of Christmas? I have some strong misgivings about telling Mogs the standard Santa story, because I don’t see a lot of integrity in purposefully lying to your child throughout his or her childhood.

NOW, saying that makes me seem really hard core, but please don’t get the wrong idea. I think that the Santa story can be a fun part of Christmas, but I’d like it to be something that we participate in on an equal level with Mogs. In practice, this would mean playing the whole Santa thing up as much as we want, but having it understood that we are just pretending — like the innumerable other occasions when we play pretend with Mogs, and the fun isn’t dependent on her believing that our play is real.

CARRIE had a harder time than I did, when as a child she learned that Santa isn’t real. (I don’t even remember that moment, personally, but I know that I wasn’t crushed.) Even so, she feels OK about telling Mogs the Santa story. I think we did find some common ground: our plan, so far, is to have fun with the Santa thing, but in a wink-wink-nudge kind of way. We won’t insist under questioning that Santa is real, we won’t ever speak of Santa as something Mogs must believe in, but we won’t go out of our way to ruin her fun, either.

THERE are a couple of factors that might help to explain all of this furious thinking. The first is that our household celebrates Christmas a little differently than some others. In terms of gift-giving, Christmas receives less attention and effort than we give to our birthdays. At Christmastime, we pay more attention to the stockings than to the presents under the tree. So it’s highly likely that none of what’s under the tree will be from Santa; what’s there will be from Mom and Dad. I think that we might ask Santa to contribute to the stockings.

THE other factor is that I personally view Christmas as a religious holiday. I was raised Catholic, and in my heart I still follow a highly personalized version of Catholicism. (Mainstream Catholics would call it an unrecognizable version of Catholicism, and I’m not inclined to argue.) Even though I’ve strayed from my roots, Christmas remains the most significant and beautiful religious holiday for me, as the day that God was born into the world in human form. However, all of this theology is fodder for another post…

CLEARLY, I want to be thoughtful about the traditions I share with my daughter: just like I don’t want to lie to her about Santa Claus, I also don’t plan to inculcate her with Catholic doctrine. But between the two traditions — Santa and God — I’m definitely more excited about sharing my spirituality with Mogs, in a responsible and respectful way. Really, my only goal is to help her retain her sense of wonder, and to help that wonder develop into a reverence for her world, so that whatever path she follows, and however she defines spirituality, she will grow into the kind of person who is capable of seeing a spiritual aspect in her surroundings. That’s my job; the rest is up to her.

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IT was a beautiful brisk, sunny day, and after breakfast the three of us walked downtown. We knew that Santa was sitting for pictures, and we thought we’d see what Mogs thought of that. She was not too hot on Santa, not just yet, thank you. When it arrives in the mail, our picture will show her screaming on Santa’s lap with me holding her hand.

WHILE we were waiting for Santa to show up, we periodically saw or heard a pair of Clydesdales clomping around the downtown streets, pulling a wagon full of people. Mogs was beside herself with excitement; she pointed feverishly toward whatever direction the sound was coming from, doing her horse-lips thing. (She can’t yet say the word “horse,” but believe you me, we talk about horses quite a bit.) I could barely keep her contained in my arms. And yet, when we finally were in the wagon, with the Clydesdales right in front of her, she was terrified.

LATER, we were in line at the coffee shop when a firetruck went by with its sirens blaring. Mogs is normally interested in fire trucks, but this day, after we had discussed the fire truck briefly, she became very solemn. When a few minutes had passed, she started pointing to where the truck had driven by, and repeatedly making the sign for “help,” as if to emphasize that the firefighters were going to help someone. (She reacts the same way when we read about Humpty Dumpty falling off of the wall.) Seeing her heightened level of concern, Carrie and I decided that in talking with Mogs about firefighters, we needed to emphasize the hopeful aspect of their work — i.e., when the firetrucks are on their way, it’s a good thing, because the firefighters are so skilled at what they do.

OUR tender little girl!