The Cat's Outta the Bag

The other morning, my oldest woke up with his loose tooth relocated to the other side of his mouth.  (I know.  Yuck.)

Needless to say, the tooth fairy was due for a visit.

Only, she didn't have any dollar bills laying around... and sorta forgot.

This morning at 6am, she remembered...

She dug through the change jar in search for enough to add up to dollar.

With perfect hearing, my oldest came out of his room, wondering what "all that clanking noise" was.

With four quarters hidden in hand, any noise of the clanking sort was denied in a round-about way so as to not be totally outright dishonest.

My son made mention that the tooth fairy failed to show, again.  Then he asked if I was sure it wasn't us, because his friends all say it's their parents.

With a sigh of defeat, I reluctantly opened my hand to show him the loot.

"It IS you!".... pause.... "That's disappointing."

Yes, yes it is.

Then comes the inevitable next question, "So is the Easter Bunny you, too?"

"Really, Andur? A bunny that hides eggs around your house??"

"Oh, yeah.  I guess that's true."  (Please don't ask the next question... walk away, Jami! Walk away!!)

"What about Santa Claus?"

(me) "He's real."

"My friend said she looked it up in the encyclopedia and read that he's just a myth."

"Well, go look it up."

So he did.

"Hey, there's a town called Santa Claus!"

(Me) "Really, where?"

"On the same page as the other one."  (duh.)

(Him) "It says he died somewhere in the 300's A.D.  That's kinda creepy - some dead dude coming in our house in the middle of the night."

( ... )

So, I told him. 

I said he IS real, he's just not alive.  He's been immortalized by parents and children for generations. 

I linked it to the first gift of Christmas - how our loving Heavenly Father gave us His only Begotten Son; how the humble and meek were guided to Him by a star, the reason we have a star atop our tree. 

I told him, now he gets the wonderful opportunity to embrace the true meaning of the season; that he gets to help us keep the magic alive for the younger ones not privy to this conversation.  (Well, Owen was, but he didn't seem to care.) 

It was bittersweet, this conversation.  I remember all too well the heartbreak upon finding out why my dad's handwriting was suspiciously similar to every fantastical character of my youth.  My heart ached for his; for him having to take yet another step in this growing up process. 

Yet, to see the light in his face when he finally (*finally*) "got" what Christmas really is all about...

"Oh, I get it!" 

...not much I can add to the greatness of that.