About a year ago, my 9-year-old son, Max, strolled down the stairs one morning, money from the Tooth Fairy crumpled in his tiny fist. With a triumphant grin, he declared, “I knew it was you, Mom! I pretended to sleep last night to catch you in the act!”
The night before, while tucking him in, he had asked about the Tooth Fairy, and I had fibbed, insisting she was real. Honestly, I was only half-heartedly committed to the ruse. I was beginning to falter in my holiday magic duties, realizing that it was way easier to pull off when they were younger.
I had tiptoed into his room a bit too early that night. Exhausted and ready for bed, I thought he was sound asleep in the glow of the moonlight. I slid the cash under his pillow and headed off to bed, pondering how exhausting this whole charade had become. For over a decade, I had gone above and beyond for every holiday. One year, the Tooth Fairy even left my eldest an entire coin collection! This was all self-imposed pressure, and I knew it was time to call it quits.
So when Max revealed his discovery, I wanted to do a little dance on our kitchen island in my pajamas. I wasn’t even sad! It felt liberating to end this exhausting charade of trying to outdo myself every year. Goodbye to all that unrealistic magical fairyland nonsense! And those Pinterest boards with their over-the-top ideas? No thanks! The truth was, I was so drained from the effort that I could have vomited.
Realizing the Tooth Fairy truth was out, I decided it was time for full disclosure about Santa and the Easter Bunny too. To my surprise, they didn’t seem too phased. Clearly, they had been onto the whole act for a while and were just playing along to keep me happy. And you know what? I did enjoy that illusion — until I became a little too much like Buddy the Elf.
As magical as it was, I recognized that I had created that world for them at one point, and it was okay to move on now. If they were old enough to stay awake to catch the Tooth Fairy, they were also old enough to learn the truth. The older they got (thanks a lot, kids), the trickier it became to hide the Elf, disguise my handwriting on Santa letters, or stash away different wrapping paper for gifts from Santa.
Magic evolves as we age, and that includes our kids. Mine are now at an age where they comprehend the magic of generosity. They find joy in giving just about as much as receiving.
For instance, just the other night, my daughter lost a tooth and asked her dad if money would magically appear under her pillow. He told her he wouldn’t be doing that, but the Tooth Fairy might. She simply replied, “I know she’s not real, but I still want my cash.” So instead of sneaking money under her pillow, we handed her a few bucks right there. It was honest, straightforward, and even involved her tossing the tooth in the trash herself. The days of deceiving my kids about make-believe characters were over, and honestly, it felt pretty darn magical.
Just the other day, we were indulging in some mediocre fast food, reminiscing about all the elaborate schemes I had executed to maintain the illusion of childhood wonder. To my amusement, they wanted to know all my tricks — where I hid the Elf and the special Santa wrapping paper. As I was divulging my secrets, I noticed a pair of wide-eyed toddlers at a nearby table, completely engrossed in our conversation.
I immediately stopped, shooting an apologetic glance to their mom. She smiled back and said, “Don’t worry, I don’t think they’re following. And honestly, I can’t wait for this phase. Please tell me I don’t have to go through it until my kids are as old as yours!”
When the time comes to reveal the truth about Santa and the Easter Bunny (or if it already has), just remember to keep those conversations private. No need to spill the beans in public, especially for the poor souls still caught in the web of childhood magic.
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In conclusion, while we might leave behind the enchantment of Santa and the Tooth Fairy, we can embrace a new kind of magic — one rooted in honesty and generosity. Our children are growing up, and so are we.