I ascended to the second floor to bid my daughter goodnight, only to find her in tears.
“What’s the matter?” I inquired, my heart racing. Had she hurt herself? Was she watching those heartbreaking animal rescue videos again?
“I saw you,” she sobbed, using the back of her hand to dry her tears. “I saw you setting out the Easter Bunny things.” Her lower lip trembled as a tear rolled down her cheek.
My heart sank. I thought I had timed it perfectly. It was 10 p.m., and while I knew my daughter, Mia, was still awake—a known night owl—she typically stayed in her room. But this time, curiosity won out. Perhaps she heard the rustling of bags or sensed my movements as I arranged everything. Regardless, she had caught me in the act.
At 9, Mia was on the brink of leaving childhood behind, teetering between being a little girl and stepping into the tween years. Many kids in her class had already stopped believing, and whispers about Santa Claus circulated frequently. Yet, Mia chose to hold onto that belief—or perhaps she simply wanted to. She seemed acutely aware of her own transition from childhood to adolescence.
I hesitated, momentarily paralyzed in her doorway. Should I reveal the truth or allow the enchantment to linger a while longer?
“The Easter Bunny can’t be everywhere at once,” I found myself saying. The magic would remain for now. I wasn’t ready to let go of childhood’s wonders, and judging by Mia’s expression, she wasn’t either. “Sometimes, parents lend a hand.”
I paused, anticipating a confrontation. If she accused me of lying, I would have to come clean.
“That’s why I see the same things in my Target shopping basket,” Mia mused, a flicker of understanding lighting up her tear-filled eyes.
“Yes,” I replied, relieved. “Exactly.” I took a seat beside her as she nestled into my lap, resting her head on my shoulder. I often ponder if these moments of comfort will continue as she grows. Each instance feels precious, and I cherish them, knowing they might not last forever.
Some individuals suggested I should have been straightforward with her. “My kids stopped believing in the Easter Bunny at 6,” a friend remarked. “You might as well tell her the truth.”
Perhaps, but I wish to savor this magic a little longer, especially since I am aware of what lies ahead—boy troubles, friendship dilemmas, and questions about which lipstick shade to choose.
Yes, there is still time for magic. I take joy in the fact that Mia believes an umbrella could help her fly like Mary Poppins.
I smile knowing she still dreams of transforming into a character from her favorite films.
I’m grateful she thinks her stuffed animals experience emotions and enjoy the same meals we do.
Someday, she will uncover the reality behind the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and her costumes and toys may find themselves stored away in a box.
But that day is not today, and for that, I am thankful.
Further Reading
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Conclusion
In summary, the journey of parenting includes moments of magic that deserve to be cherished. As children grow, they navigate the balance between belief and reality, and parents often find themselves wanting to preserve the innocence of childhood just a little longer.