Leading up to Christmas this year, it was a real puzzle whether Toby still believes in Santa. He’d talk about what he’d like Santa to bring, and he had tons of logistical questions about Santa and his processes. But he’s pretty bright, and there have been definite inadvertent clues. It’s certainly possible that he has doubts. He knows for sure that the “sit-on-his-lap” Santas are just representatives. 

I told John it’s actually quite possible he’s caught on to the myth and is just playing us, making us dance the little Santa dance for entertainment. I wouldn’t put it past him.

It’s hard to concoct a Santa scenario when everyone’s home, all. the. time. The vast majority of Toby’s requests from Santa came from his lifetime favorite tractor catalog. This year he upped his game from marking up the paper catalog to creating a shopping list on their website. I assured him Santa could access it. And then I had to create another account on their website to order all the items; I actually added a few small things like a few of the Schleich animals he uses in his tractor play. For fun, I threw in a longhorn steer to the cart.

I made a very brief foray into my own youth when I found some handmade tack items for Schleich horses on Etsy, and I had Breyer horse flashbacks as I selected a saddle, bridle, and halter/lead. 

I did panic a bit over the question of the truck model. Toby loves the 1988 Ford 250 that John bought at the start of 2020. I mean, he loves that truck with a passion. He told me he wanted a version of the truck in his preferred tractor size (1/32) to play with with all his other trucks and tractors. Just like “his” truck.

I searched. And searched. And searched. There are lots of diecast Ford truck models out there, but none of an ’88 and definitely none of an ’88 in 1/32 scale. The closest I could come was a 1979 in 1/24 scale in close to the right color. It would have to do. I ordered it. Next time Toby discussed the model truck and his Santa hopes for it, I told him that Santa might have some trouble tracking down exactly the same truck in exactly the right size. He looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “What are you talking about, the elves will make it exactly right. That’s what they do!” Touché. Touché. (Dammit.)

I had the majority of the Santa loot shipped to a kind neighbor to keep Toby from seeing the package arrive at the house from the tractor catalog place. He kept an eagle eye on packages, so I think it was a worthy precaution. As I wrapped gifts, I stashed them under the guest bed, and I think he found them. But I didn’t include any Santa gifts there. For those, I waited until John and Toby were out hunting, retrieved them all from the neighbors, and wrapped them frantically in the sole new roll of wrapping paper I bought this year, the one I didn’t let Toby see. The Santa gifts and stocking stuffings went into the guest shower, with the curtain drawn. I don’t think he found them there. Fingers crossed. He definitely checked a lot of places we’ve hidden things in the past.

It all seemed to go according to plan on Christmas Eve and Day. Toby left not only a note for Santa, but also a riddle question (and told Santa that if he wanted to know the answer, he’d have to wake Toby up. Tricky.). He also left a list of questions like how old Santa is and how many elves there are. The offerings included the ritual cookies and eggnog. 

John assumed the role of Santa, writing the answer to Toby’s riddle and another riddle back to him, and answering all the questions (we googled the answers) in cursive, which is as disguised as we can write. Toby seemed to accept that Santa had written the responses, and he was delighted with the answers. He was thrilled to see his tractor wish list come to life on Christmas morning, and apparently didn’t notice the scale and year discrepancy on “his” truck model. Victory! Santa lives.

But the real kicker came about a week after Christmas, after some pretty intense tractor scene play. Toby told me casually that he’s impressed at how well Santa reads his mind. I asked what he meant, and he told me that a few weeks before Christmas, he’d been playing with his Schleich cows, and he’d said to himself, “I really wish I had a cow with bigger horns.” 

“And Santa must have heard me somehow!” he said, with a distinct tone of wonder in his voice, the very wonder that used to haunt his Santa discussions in years previous and had seemed to be fading. “I didn’t put it on my list or tell him. He just heard me think it!”

That impulse buy of a longhorn is paying off dividends. All the hoops I jumped through and contortions I made to keep Santa going this year, and a damn plastic cow wins the day. Take the wins where you can find them! I was feeling a bit of thrill, then I realized it all starts all over again, and I have to conjure up Santa again next year. Only 356 days to go!