How Not To Dad: Episode 29 - Pajama Knots and the Magic of Christmas

Another Christmas has come and gone, and this one was different in a lot of ways from the previous year. For starters, we're in the midst of moving into a new house. It's an old house with a vintage look to it, and I've been told on more than one occasion that it looks like a miniature version of the Home Alone house (and I do mean miniature, compared to the mansion in that movie. Seriously, as the meme goes, what did Kevin McAllister's dad do for a living to afford that thing?). We were only partially moved in by Christmas. As a result, our tree was just a pre-lit, plain Jane tree with no ornaments on it, placed in front of a window with no curtains or blinds, in a living room with no couch in it. In fact there's not a single window in the house that is covered by curtains or blinds yet, so for now we're pretty much on display to the neighbors across the street.

Another difference is that we were actually able to celebrate on Christmas Eve at my grandmother’s house, a tradition that has spanned my entire forty years on this earth - minus one, which was last year. This Covid business has been a real wrecking ball. 

Yet another change was that this was Logan’s first year celebrating Christmas in which he knew the Santa secret. This was a little painful to me because I know what it's like to lose that magic, or at least feel like you've lost it. It didn't help that he was fairly vocal about the fact that he wished he still believed, and every time he mentioned this to my wife or me it was like a tiny little dagger stabbing our hearts. Not only is it a pivotal moment in his development, an understanding of a new and ever so slightly less cheery world, but it's also a reminder to us (as if we needed any more reminders) that he's growing up. A little piece of his innocence was chipped away, and now his whole world is different.

There were two things that made me realize it was going to be okay for him. One was that he became really enthusiastic about hiding the Elf on the Shelf, which Abby had christened "Jimmie," and in my little Christmas-spirit heart I knew that Logan was already taking up the reins and being his own version of Santa, just as we did as parents. He wanted to hide the Elf so Abby could wake up every morning excited to see where he’d moved, just like Logan had done in years past. The other thing he did that made me realize he was fine was that as soon as he walked into the living room on Christmas morning and saw the presents under the tree, he walked back over to his mom, hugged her and looked at me, and whispered "Thank you." Now, I didn't want a thank you. Let me be clear about that. What that gesture meant to me was that he'd accepted "Santa" for what he was, and that he was moving on with his new understanding.

I always wonder if we're doing the wrong thing teaching our kids to believe in the magic of Santa Claus, only to pull the rug from under their feet years later (usually before they're truly ready). After this ordeal with Logan I feel a little bit guilty explaining to Abby when she asks how the elf moves around at night that "he's magic, he flies," or that Santa is going to come down the chimney with a sack full of toys for her and her brother, or that reindeer fly, or any other Christmas magic story we tell our kids to make them happy. In the back of my mind I know that day is coming when I'll have to tell her the truth, and I know that will break her heart as it did Logan's.

I think of that stuff and feel guilty. The other side of me, though, remembers believing in that magic. I remember thinking Christmas was always the most exciting time of year, a night when true magic exists. I can't help but wonder if that fascination and passion we had as kids doesn't carry into adulthood, even after we've stopped believing in the traditional Santa Claus story. Maybe the magic we felt as kids is substituted for time with our families, and that same joy born of childhood magic idles within us because we're surrounded by the ones we love. Maybe we're manufacturing magic of our own, and we couldn't do it so easily if we hadn't believed in it as children. 

Well, there's my reflections on the Christmas season. Now onto the funny stuff...

I had managed to steer clear of the whole "matching pajamas" craze over the past few years, but this year it finally got me. My wife bought a family set from Walmart with the Grinch plastered all over them. I stood there as she rummaged through the different sizes, and all I could think about was how clingy pajamas used to feel when I was younger, like they were always too small.

I'm a hefty fella. Clingy and hefty don't mix. I fit solid and comfortable into an XL size in most clothes (except for clothes ordered from overseas, where an XL is really like a Medium in U.S. terms. I guess we really are some tubby sumbitches over here). Knowing how thin and elastic pajamas usually are, I advised my wife to search for a 2X size. She found it.

The plan, my wife informed me, was to put them on Christmas Eve and take a picture in front of our naked Christmas tree. When we got home from my grandmother’s house that night I realized it was time to “don we now our gay apparel” (Fa la la la la la la la la). 

I was hoping for a slightly baggy feel when I began to pull the clothes on, and the shirt was just that. A little too big, but fine. Comfortable even. It was when I unfolded the parachute that was the pajama pants that I realized I was going to have a problem. Apparently sometime between 1989 and now, pajama companies realized how small their clothes were and began oversizing everything. When I put these pants on it felt like I was wearing a garbage bag. It's been a while, but I don't recall ever needing a belt before when wearing pajama bottoms. They were so big that I literally could have fit in them twice. 

When I showed Nikki she sighed. "Logan's don't fit either. His are too small." As she said this Logan stepped into the hall where we stood and he looked like a sausage link about ready to burst through its casing. He didn't seem to care though.

Standing there with my knees out to hold up my pants, I landed on an idea. "Check this out," I told Nikki. 

You know those shirts 80’s girls used to wear that are tied in a knot on the side, usually exposing a little midriff? Did you know you can do that with oversized pajama pants? I may have created a new fashion trend that Christmas eve. By God it worked, though! I tied one side up in a knot and voila! Instant fit. The knot was a little difficult to negotiate but I made it happen. 

Anyway, we all sat in front of the tree and the kids opened a couple of presents from us. Somehow I got out of having to have my picture taken with the family in front of the tree. Not sure why. It couldn't have been because my pants looked bad. In the end I think Nikki was jealous of my pajama-knot fashion statement and didn't want it to catch on with the rest of the world. She’s always holding me back....

But I digress. That's not even the good part. After we put the kids to bed we proceed with the Santa stuff. I had migrated all the gifts from our bedroom closet into Abby's room at the top of the stairs. She and Logan were sleeping in our bedroom with us at the time. The house is big and empty and they weren't used to it yet. Well, we begin lugging the gifts downstairs. I'm on my second run, and about halfway down the stairs, when I feel something shift on my pants.

They get loose.

"Oh no." I say, and feel the knot in my pajamas fully give way at about the same time. 

The pants start to fall.

My arms are full, and I'm on the stairs. 

At the foot of said staircase is the front door, and like all the windows in the house, the window in the front door is sans curtain. My neighbor's house is directly across the street, a mere thirty yards away, facing the front door. 

I go into crab mode. I spread my knees in hopes of holding up the Hammer pants at least until I get down the stairs. I waddle a few more steps down, and finally realize there's no use. The pants are falling down and the more I try the worse it gets. With no trick left in my arsenal, I just do what has to be done. I simply walk out of my pants. The waistband hits my ankles, exposing my underwear to the neighbors. I move as quickly as possible while trying my damnedest not to drop all the presents and wake the kids up. Had they been looking, our neighbors might have gotten a gift they didn’t ask for this Christmas.

We finally got all the presents under the tree, after two midnight runs back to the old house in my oversized pajamas. Ever the fashionista, I tied the knot back and continued to wear the Grinch pajamas until Christmas morning. All in all it was a year to remember, for my family and for whomever might have been looking the wrong way on that cold, clear, magical night.

Moral of the story:

Christmas magic is real. Sometimes Christmas magic is a childlike belief in a story of a man who lives at the North Pole and brings toys to all the kids on Christmas Eve. Sometimes Christmas magic is the joy you feel when you share time and laughter and smiles with your loved ones. And sometimes Christmas magic is a view through a window of your half naked neighbor hobbling down the stairs like a crab with his arms full of presents, trying desperately - and failing - to hold his pants up and keep at least one single shred of dignity. Whichever magic you subscribe to, it's all pretty spectacular in its own way.