This week, my baby, my third child, found out that there is no Santa Claus. And I am a mess. How desperately I wanted at least one more Christmas for her to believe. For me to be able to experience the joy and magic of Santa and know that I still have a child who believes. A child young enough to tether me to when my older children still believed. A tether to the belief that I would always have my children as kids, not as humans who will eventually grow up. And now I don’t. 

I hugged her as she asked so many questions – pieces of her childhood being dismantled before me. I hugged her and told her about how I too, was 9 years old when I found out. A few tears started falling from my eyes for both of us. I  have never forgotten that day. She now has to leave behind a magical time of her life and I can’t get it back for her. She had already begun her letter to Santa and she went up to her room to read what she had written. She had started it only two days earlier. I know it is hard for her to reconcile how real Santa was to her just a day before. It is a lot to understand and come to terms with. It is hard me for me to come to terms with the fact that this stage of raising a family has now passed us by. 

I remember how hard it was to have really young kids. I often think back and wonder how we did it. We never had any time. We were always exhausted and it seemed like that was our fate, for the rest of our lives. Eventually, that often overwhelming reality started to fade into the background as our kids grew.  Somehow those days slipped away, right before our eyes. Things just started slowly and quietly getting easier. I think back and reflect on those times a lot. All of the work and exhaustion of Eric and I being the only people who could comfort and take care of our children (even though I just wanted someone else to take over once in awhile!) was really what made it beautiful. The work of raising a family is where the real meaning of having a family comes from. This is true of all things in life. Things that come easy, don’t mean as much. 

As our kids continue to grow, our role as parents is slowly shifting. We are starting to serve more as consultants, than parents. The older they get, the more I realize it is not my place to make decisions for them. Sometimes, I don’t like their decisions and there can be tension because of that.  But how else I am going to raise confident humans? 

Our older two kids are still in their own bit of childhood magic right now. There has been no heartache. There has been no profound loss through the death of someone they love. There is still an innocence and an unawareness of how harsh some days of their lives will inevitably be. Do you remember how beautiful life was when there was a Santa and no one had broken your heart and no one you loved had ever died? We can’t protect our kids from this because this is life. But for now, I am grateful that they are still in a bubble and I will hold on and be thankful for this fleeting time in their lives. 

Tonight, when I say goodnight to each of the kids, I will take in the moment. Capture it somehow, and tuck it away before it too slips away to the next.

A bit more…How to tell your kids about Santa and a nice story about my Dad and Santa.