This past Memorial Day marked a big milestone in our family. We had just returned from a great weekend getaway, and I was sitting at the computer catching up on e-mail when my nine-year-old and seven-year-old cornered me.
My daughter (the seven-year-old) said, “Mom, is Santa real?”
“What do you think?”, I responded.
“Liam thinks he is, and I think he’s not. Who’s right?”
Ouch, I thought. What to do? Did I tell the truth and ruin the magic? Or fudge a little and have a few more years of fun?
I took a deep breath. ”Well, guys, Meredith is right, there’s no Santa.”
“I knew it!”, exclaimed my daughter.
“Awww.”, said my son. And then, “How do you afford all those presents?!”
No tears. No yelling. No flinging themselves onto the couch in agony, as I had done when the next-door neighbor clued me in at the age of five.
It was all a little anti-climactic. I was relieved. And to be honest, I felt a bit free. No more trying to keep track of which presents were from Santa and which were from us! No more special “Santa” wrapping paper.
But now that the season is almost upon us, I find myself feeling a little sad and a bit nostalgic for the days when they did believe. Getting ready for Christmas just won’t be the same this year.
