Last night I ripped off the worn, ill fitting, loosely hanging bandaid called "Santa". Mads and I were alone and I asked her for a moment of truth and honesty: I asked her if she still believed in Santa. To which she academically replied, "Mom, there is no way one person can travel around the world in one night and give presents to every child."
I had a sneaking suspicion she was holding out for the gifts and she was the last kid standing in our house. I called her in for a hug because it was music to my ears. I know I sound like a Grinch but to be honest, I am just glad we are all out in the open about this now. I can happily load stockings and put things under the tree in a timely manner. I don't have to worry about hiding gifts that, if found, have to be wrapped and replaced with other gifts.
It sounds crazy, right? It is. This is what we do to ourselves during the holidays in the plight to make our kids feel good; to make ourselves feel good. Though I love the magic of Christmas, it is a tiring commitment.
This morning when Mads and I got up, I moved the elf in front of her, removing any lingering questions. It felt strange and low but also liberating. This is clearly a new phase we have entered and I couldn't be more excited. I still will happily share the magic of other kids but for my family, now maybe the beach at Christmas will seem much more appropriate.