My son, in 6th grade now, has never asked us about Santa. My daughter, in 4th grade, has been asking us since she was five. Tom and I are now Jedi Masters at the duck-and-dodge evasive maneuver: "What, honey? Is Santa real? Well, of course he is...HEY! Who wants ice cream??"
I'm 99.999% sure my son knows the real deal. At least, I hope he does; otherwise, he's got some really embarrassing bus stop conversations ahead. I suspect he's staying mum for his sister's sake. Yes, he's that sweet. Or maybe he knows the truth, but just doesn't want to hear it. Kind of a 'secret-of-which-we-do-not-speak' thing...
So far this year, nobody's asked. Until now, I was prepared to have that brutally honest talk with whichever child asked. I've changed my mind. The words, "Yes honey, your Dad and I are Santa" shall never pass my lips.
In debating this with my husband(who has steadfastly argued against full disclosure), I remembered what it was like when I found out my folks were Santa. I was seven. In one short but devastating conversation with my Mom, I learned about Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Michael Landon. Nope, no such thing as the first three -- and I was never going to be able to grow up and marry the man who played Pa Ingalls.
I'll just do my part to keep a little childhood wonder in the Holiday. Even when it's pretend and my kids know that I know that they know. I doubt they'll mind.
WTF, me. #solareclipse2017 - You know how on Friday I wrote about how we couldn’t find any eclipse glasses? Well I decided to go old-school and make a pinhole camera and then this happ...
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