New Years Eve is here and people are busy making resolutions. Instead of making a resolution to lose those pesky five (er, ten) pounds or promising to go to the gym every day, I'm going to try something else. I'm going to try to stop comparing myself to other people. I've been doing it for a very long time and usually end up feeling badly about myself. 

I had typical high school insecurities, but it's not until I arrived at college that I remember feeling very unsure. My hall at the University of Michigan had about ten other freshmen and they were all valedictorians and salutatorians. I wasn't. I met people who had aced their ACT and SATs. I had not. Sure, none of them were bilingual nor had they lettered in track and cross-country, but I felt less-than. Then there were many friends who were incredible musicians, while I had been mediocre. My roommates were getting perfect scores in Michigan's competitive engineering program, while I was trying to survive Statistics for my psychology major. I remember constantly comparing myself to the tall and incredibly thin models of my day--Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell--which, of course, left me feeling less-than. At 5'4" I couldn't compete with such Amazonians, but that didn't stop me from staring at the mirror and cursing my flaws.

When I went overseas for my junior year, I did finally learn to be more forgiving, though it was a struggle. I gradually became more confident and sure of myself and was reminded by good friends that I deserved good things only because I was me, not because I had reached an arbitrary level of intellect, talent or beauty. 

The funny thing about motherhood--especially about being at home full time--is that it is easy to get sucked into comparing oneself again. After all, there is no external measure of success nor an office-full of people whose opinions can help frame mine. I don't hold my single or parenting friends to a weight, beauty or intellectual standard, but I again feel myself comparing myself to people in aspects where I can't win. I envy the moms with flat stomachs and berate myself for overeating. I listen to other moms talk about what they're teaching their kids and wonder if I should be buying more workbooks for four-year-old Monkey. At the same time, I talk to friends who don't put their kids into a regular schooling program until age three or four and wonder why I'm so intent on getting Munchkin into a program because she misses the PreK3 cut-off. Why can't I happily stay home with her full-time until she's almost four?

Then there are moms who seem to manage work and home effortlessly when I know I struggled when I was working and parenting at the same time. Is it bad that I'm happy being home full-time? Should I be more ambitious about finding work in the next year when I really want to work part-time and pick my kids up from school every day? I was proud of Munchkin counting a little and imitating the alphabet at age two and ran into my neighbor whose 21-month old can count to 12 and recite the entire alphabet for real. Am I not teaching enough? Am I not parenting enough? The questions are endless. Am I lazy for wanting a daytime babysitter once a week? Am I a better person for not having a regular sitter in eight months? Should I be going out more at night? Should I be wearing nicer clothes? Does everyone notice the extra pounds I can't lose? Should I be cooking different meals? Should I be volunteering more? 

I know, I know, that I am a good mother. I know that my children feel loved and that they feel accepted for who they are. I know that I make them healthy food, keep them clean and play with them endlessly. I know that I work hard to keep my house as neat as I'm able and as organized as possible. I know that I'm a good person that has some incredible, long-lasting friendships with generous and kind people who love me exactly the way I am. I don't beat myself up for never being a supermodel but this year I have to work on not beating myself up for not being someone else: someone thinner, more put together and more talented who doesn't exist. My friends are flawed and I love them. In 2014 I'm going to work on loving my flaws just as much. 

What a difference a year can make. Almost two years ago,  Monkey barely knew he had a birthday. This past year he insisted he wanted a party. This year--four months in advance of his next birthday--he's already given me a partial guest list and told me which superhero he wants on the cake.

The same thing is happening with Christmas and Santa. He's gone from being blissfully unaware that we don't typically celebrate in the warmer climates of India like we did last year to analyzing Santa's every move. And boy are there a lot of Santas this year! There are Santas on TV, Santas at our local tree lighting and Santas at our mall every single day since November. If you're asking yourself why having Santa at a mall is big deal, it's because we walk through the mall every day to drop Monkey off at school and to pick him up. I don't know who decided that putting a mall in the middle of a city was a good idea, but I can assure you it wasn't a parent with small children. Many afternoons as we walk home Monkey looks at the huge set-up around the mall's Santa. At first he looked with curiosity, then with understanding of the photographic going-ons there, and now he looks with longing. "I wish we could have our picture taken there" he says in a plaintive voice. 

I am very fond of Santa, but I don't really want Monkey and Munchkin to get their picture taken with him at the mall. I'm not sure exactly why but maybe it's the commercialism. After all, not only can you buy an overpriced photo with santa, but an overpriced mug! A dish! A magnet! And a variety of items you don't want in your house, but your kids will beg you for all the same. I'm not a complete Grinch. I did take them to get their photo taken with Santa at the tree lighting, but fearless Munchkin was so scared of Santa and his tall elf that she burst into tears. In the photo, Monkey is grinning on Santa's lap and Munchkin is grimacing on mine. 

In November, Monkey asked repeatedly if Santa was real. I was so distracted when he asked that I almost said, "of course not." (We've since told him that all the Santas around town help the real Santa.) He's asked me about how Santa gets all the gifts delivered (I explained that the different times zones allow him to deliver presents on time) and has stated, mantra-like, "Santa doesn't need a chimney" as if willing himself to believe Santa will make it to our fireplace-free home. 

Every time Monkey asks a question (I get presents from the family AND Santa?) I realize that I can't be lazy anymore in my holiday-related prep. I have to take the holiday decorations out from storage and actually put them up on time. I have to buy gifts and sign them "Love, Santa." Lastly, I have to keep up the Santa Clause farce for not just another week, but for another few years until Munchkin figures him out for herself.

Despite my minimally successful dodging-of-questions, it does feel odd to lie to Monkey. After all, I have to agree that not only Santa is real, but also discuss elves and reindeer and what it means to be good. But today, I read this beautiful response written in 1897 to a girl named Virginia who had posed the same question as Monkey "Is Santa real?" to a newspaper editor. This answer reminds me that there are few things as special as a child's innocent, though brief, belief in Santa.

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished."

I will listen to Monkey's questions about Santa Clause and the magic that he provides. For now, I'll just be glad that despite the millions of Santas he and Munchkin have seen that at least they didn't see these, fighting in the snow.

Happy holidays everyone!