Photo by Unseen Studio on Unsplash.

Writing inspired by the following Secret Santa Story Share 2023 prompt:

Write a letter to Mrs Claus. Everyone writes to her husband, maybe she’d appreciate a letter too?

Dear Mrs Claus

by Jane Dudeney

Dear Mrs Claus, if I’ve got this right
We’ve you to thank for Santa’s flight,
Your spirit fills the North Pole’s air,
With love and laughter, beyond compare.

You’re the driving force of Santa’s team,
The backbone of the grotto it seems!
With a heart of gold and a smile so bright,
You take care of everything each night.

Although your husband gets all the praise,
We know it’s you who’s prepped for days,
Packing the gifts onto Santa’s sleigh,
Making sure no child’s present goes astray.

So thanks Mrs Claus, we know it’s true,
That Christmas happens because of you!
And I wrote this letter to let you know,
We wish you a merry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho!


Pen to Paper

by Jasmine Fassl

It was burning a hole in her pocket. Julia had been carrying it around with her all day, too busy to find a post office to get it sent off. She also could not put the posting off until tomorrow as she did not want to take it home again.

Last night, Julia had put Samuel and Adam to bed at 9pm as per usual. She’d done her daily tidy around the house, picking up odd socks from under the sofa and left-over homework from the coffee table. She’d righted the flat from the chaos of the day, hoping that the order of the evening might spill into the following day. When she had done all the chores, Joe was, as per usual, still not home.
He worked as a business growth consultant for a multinational company and he was rarely home between meetings, trips and dinners. It used to bother her that she was looking after the flat and the children, having a job, doing all the shopping and cleaning, the football practice and the trips to the hospital with broken bones. The weight of everybody’s expectation of what her life should be like, what she should feel about her often-absent husband, used to crush her. But she got used to the absences and she got good at not expecting, not even wanting, things for herself.
Last night after finishing the chores she’d sat down to write their Christmas cards. There were uncles and cousins, old school friends and ex-colleagues to write to. She liked the writing, always leaving space for the boys and Joe to at least add their signatures at the end to make the recipients feel as if they had written to them together. But about halfway down her list, her mind had wandered. Adam had already posted his letter to Santa on the very first day of December, Samuel took a bit longer, but the draw of writing her own wishlist was too strong. Joe had not yet asked her if she had Christmas wishes, and she’d thought for a moment of writing a letter to Santa herself – and to then leave it on the fridge. But what would she wish for? Between her family’s needs and her work’s demands, there was no space for actual wishes. Contentment was what she could aspire to.
She’d found a piece of scrap paper – actually one of Adam’s many drawings of some action hero or another – and had started to write on the back: “Dear Santa, I hope I have been a good girl this year –“
She’d stopped.
It was stupid. She didn’t think Joe would find it funny either, he would feel accused by her and then maybe even guilty. She’d crumpled the paper into a ball. But the idea had taken hold and she truly did want to write a letter. So she found another piece of expendable artwork and started again:

Dear Mrs Claus,

I am not sure if you receive many letters at Christmas, but as my children have already written to your husband, I thought I’d send you a message instead. I feel that I have been as good as I can possibly be this year. I have two boys, Adam who is 9 and Samuel who is 12. My husband Joe works very hard and is often away, so I manage our lives alone. I don’t mind, mostly. Between work and the children I feel close to content.
However, a couple of weeks ago, Adam refused my usual ‘goodbye hug’ when I dropped him off at school. I knew this day would come with him, but I was still unprepared for it. I had gone through this phase with Samuel and gotten used to the changes in our relationship. But there was always still Adam. He was happy to have all the hugs at bedtime, hold my hand in public and shout out his love for me for all the world to hear. Until a couple of weeks ago, when he turned away. Not that I blame him! Of course, it’s completely normal to do this for any child. But I felt lonely, all of a sudden. Joe was away again, and there was no one who I could have gotten that quick physical need satisfied from. So now I’m looking into the not-too-far future and I see that my boys will need me less and less. Joe will not ever need me more again, just because I need him more. I realise that I have gotten my ‘happy fixes’ from my children, when I should probably have gotten them from Joe.
So what should I do about this? I don’t want to have another baby, raising it more or less alone again. And then not being needed once it has grown up. Or should I actually leave Joe and try and find love, really love and not only contentment, again? How would the boys feel about this? How disruptive would this be for them? They probably wouldn’t understand. And it’s not that I don’t still love Joe. Just not the way I used to. I don’t think he loves me the way he used to either.
Do I put myself first, or do I put my children first? Whose happiness is more important? And how long can I be a good mother, support them and be there for them, before I emotionally shrivel up like an old prune? Am I even allowed hope for romantic love again? Who would even look at me, a middle-aged mother of two?

Do you have any advice for me?

With kindest wishes,
Julia

She’d looked up to see it was nearly midnight, way past her regular bedtime. Joe was not home yet. She took one of the envelopes from an unwritten Christmas card, folded the letter up and put it inside. She addressed it to “Mrs. Claus, North Pole”, feeling a bit silly. She didn’t put a return address on the letter – imagine some poor post office volunteer opening it and knowing who actually sent it!
But she’d felt better having put her thoughts and worries into words onto a piece of paper. She resolved to send that letter the next day. She definitely did not want anyone to find it in the house.

This is what she was trying to do the following afternoon, walking down the road on the way to pick up Adam from school. Had there not been a post box round here somewhere? Finally she found it, tucked away under an overgrown hazelnut bush. She put her letter, together with the completed Christmas cards, into the slot, wishing them luck on their journey. She turned around and found a man looking at her.
“Are you ok?” he asked, a look of concern twinkling in his eyes.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just posting some cards”, she answered.
“But did you just speak to them?” he wanted to know.
“I did”, Julia blushed, “I wish my cards good luck on their journey. Silly, I know. Still, I can’t seem to stop.”
“Considering that you hand them over to the post office, they will probably need all the luck they can get!” he laughed out loud. “And I should know, I work for them.”
“Oh, I really didn’t mean to criticise your work.” Now she was laughing too.
“No worries at all,” he waved her off. “What’s your name? Just in case I come across your cards – I can make sure they will get on their way safely.”
“I’m Julia.” She shook his outstretched hand.
“Max,” he said as he returned the handshake.
“I’m sorry, I need to pick up my son from school. Lovely to meet you.” She turned to go.
“See you around,” Max said, as she turned to make her way down the street again.
Julia felt a smile play on her lips. She had managed to get her letter posted and she had had an unusual conversation which left butterflies in her stomach. With a new bounce in her step, she made her way to the school.

Over the next few weeks, Max was not the only man she met. She had a flirty conversation with a barista in a coffee shop close to her office, and a new colleague a couple of floors above hers had asked her questions about herself one lunchtime. There was one of the fathers at football practice who she often stood with while cheering their sons on, who always seemed pleasant but this time he’d commented on how well she looked. There seemed to be more opportunities to chat to people since she had poured her thoughts into the letter to Mrs. Claus.
Christmas went without a hitch. Joe was home for once, and they had a pleasant Christmas morning together. The boys reverted to their younger selves when opening presents and they all cuddled on the sofa together while watching a Christmas movie. She cooked their lunch while singing Christmas songs to herself. Once the turkey was in the oven and she could take a break with a glass of bubbly, she thought back to her letter. She didn’t receive a magical Christmas present from Mrs. Claus, there was no gift without a sender under the tree. But since admitting her worries to herself and writing them down, she felt open to new possibilities. Not that she planned to leave her family this very minute, but she knew that she had it in her to make changes in the next year or two.
With that she stood up, looked out over the snowy town and raised a glass to Mrs. Claus in thanks. She knew that she would be ok.