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I think I was five or six when I walked into the bathroom where my mom was curling her hair and asked if there REALLY was a Santa Claus. She was not one for deception and asked me what I thought. Well I thought there probably wasn't. And then her sister, my aunt, forbade me to tell my cousin EVER. But I'm pretty sure Tisha figured it out eventually.
The point is, I always expected to be like my mother. To be no-nonsense about it all, and to approach Santa as a fun idea, part of the Christmas spirit, blah blah. But somehow my six year old believes so firmly in Santa Claus that I am actually fearful of the day that he discovers the truth. I think I've
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