“I’m going to ask Santa for Squishmallows,” says my middle child as we pull up to the building for photos with Santa.
“I want a shark in the water toy, Ninja Turtle game, and Sonic game!,” yells my son.
My oldest, who is now eleven and still a firm believer in Santa, pauses. She’s not quite sure what to ask for this year. She’s in the tween years and while her list still primarily consists of toys, I know our time is limited until her list starts including $100+ shoes, electronics, gift cards and clothes.
She has asked some logistical questions about Santa, if I think he’s real, and can name all her friends who no longer believe in him.
I’ve been there. I was a kid who would spend several Christmas Eves throwing up solely out of anticipation for the big guy in red and all that he would bring. So, when I hit those tween years, I started to piece the puzzle together — primarily, how could this one guy do all that work in one day, even with time zones? And we didn’t have a fireplace so that was a huge hold up. But, I don’t think I ever officially had the talk. Mainly because in my heart I truly wanted Santa to be real. The idea that this one guy knew what I wanted, made it happen and honestly, the magic was so incredibly special.
I know that my oldest is on the cusp of outgrowing the childhood magic. I am so thankful that we have experienced eleven years of it with her (and I can’t give enough thanks to the parents of her friends who have explicitly told their kids not to ruin the magic for those who believe).
But, I’m going to miss this.
I’m going to miss having all three kids racing through the house hoping to find the elves first.
I’m going to miss hiding the secret Santa wrapping paper from her.
I’m going to miss having the sweet conversations about Santa.
I’m going to miss her childhood innocence and her belief in the magic.
I’m going to miss her writing secret letters to Santa (that I have to break into and reseal).
I’m going to miss her running down the stairs on Christmas morning filled with curiosity of what Santa brought while she slept.
I’ll miss seeing that joy and excitement in her twinkling green eyes.
The cool thing about having kids of different ages is that I’ve been able to appreciate these moments while realizing they are fleeting. I’ve been able to really soak up my son’s excitement as a four-year-old while holding my breath for my 11-year-old.
I know that when she knows the truth, she’s going to be the best Santa going forward, because Santa is truly a feeling of generosity, kindness, and joy. She has such a love for the holiday magic that I know she will eat it all up in hopes to make her brother and sister’s holiday magical right alongside me.
I’ll gladly welcome an extra set of hands for the nightly Elf adventures and an extra gift wrapper.
I’ll enjoy the time watching cheesy romantic holiday movies with her that she’s still too young for this year.
