I headed upstairs to tuck my daughter in for the night, only to find her in tears. Alarmed, I asked, “What’s the matter?” Was she hurt? Had she stumbled across another one of those heart-wrenching animal rescue videos?
Through her sniffles, she revealed, “I saw you putting out the Easter Bunny stuff.” Her lower lip quivered as a tear rolled down her cheek.
My heart sank. I thought I had been discreet. It was already 10 p.m. Yes, I was aware that my daughter, Lily, had a tendency to stay up late. But tonight, her curiosity had gotten the best of her. Perhaps she had heard the sound of bags rustling or my footsteps as I arranged the treats. Regardless, she had caught me in the act.
At nine years old, Lily is teetering on the edge between childhood innocence and the tween phase. Many kids her age have already stopped believing, and whispers about Santa Claus have circulated since she was in second grade. Yet, Lily clings to that belief, or at least she wants to. Maybe she understands the delicate balance of her age.
I stood frozen in her room, wrestling with the decision of whether to reveal the truth or preserve the magic just a bit longer. “The Easter Bunny can’t be everywhere at once,” I finally said, opting for the latter. I wasn’t ready to let go of childhood magic, and from the look in her eyes, I sensed she wasn’t ready either. “So sometimes parents lend a hand.”
I braced myself for her reaction. Would she accuse me of lying? If so, I would have to come clean. “So that’s why I see the same things in my Target basket?” she said, a hint of understanding dawning in her eyes.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. I settled beside her as she curled up in my lap, resting her head against my shoulder. I can’t help but wonder how long this will last. Each moment she seeks comfort from me feels precious, as if it might be the last.
Some friends suggested I should have told her the truth. “My kids stopped believing in the Easter Bunny at six. Just let her know,” they said. Perhaps they’re right. But I want to savor the magic a little longer. I know what lies ahead: boy troubles, friendship dilemmas, and the pressure of fitting in—whether it’s picking the right shade of lipstick or wearing the trendiest brand.
Yes, there is still time for magic.
I cherish the fact that Lily still believes an umbrella can help her soar like Mary Poppins. I smile knowing she imagines transforming into her favorite movie characters. It brings me joy that she thinks her stuffed animals have feelings and enjoy the same food we do.
One day, she’ll discover the truth about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. One day, her costumes and toys might find a home in a box tucked away in the closet. But that day is not today. And I’m grateful for that.
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Summary
In this heartfelt narrative, a mother reflects on the delicate balance of childhood magic as her daughter begins to question the existence of the Easter Bunny. Torn between honesty and preserving her daughter’s innocence, she chooses to keep the magic alive just a little longer. The piece captures the bittersweet nature of growing up while emphasizing the importance of cherishing those fleeting moments of belief.
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