First, let me preface this little story with a quote from Sophocles...
My girls are 8 and 6 and I have come to the realization that this will probably be the last year that they believe in Santa Claus. I hate this.
As they have gotten older, I see little disappointments start to mold them into what will eventually become the adult form of my children. The first time someone yelled at them. The first time they experienced a death in the family. The first bully problem at school. The list is getting longer and longer.
All of this inexorably leads to "growing up" which seems to be directly correlated to "getting used to pain and disappointment". This does not at all seem right to me.
This weekend, Sophie (6) looked directly into my eyes and said, "Mommy, don't lie to me. Do you buy the presents that come from Santa?" Maya's ears perked up and all of a sudden I am faced by these beautiful, innocent, upturned faces begging to be told the truth.
And what did I do when faced with this opportunity? What did I do when I have always prided myself in being the sort of parent who is totally upfront and honest with her children? ( Example: Honey, it's not a hoo-hoo, it's called a vagina.)
I looked them dead in the eye and said, "Of course not! You both know that I would never be able to afford to do that! Santa comes to those who believe in him. You had better be careful what you say!"
I know that they have to know. That I eventually have to fess up. But not this Christmas. Not when we're so close.
There would be no Santa cookies. No milk. No blue mush (I'll explain that one later, in a future blog). No reindeer tracks meticulously drawn in powdered sugar on the front steps.
I'm just not ready for that quite yet.