Saturday, December 16, 2006

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 actually TOLD him that Santa isn't real, some years ago, but obviously he does not remember that. And now my two year old is following suit with equal enthusiasm. I am raising Santa zealots. How did this happen?

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