On Growing Up...
Oh where, oh where, has my little boy gone? Oh where, oh where, can he be? Goodness, I wasn't prepared for age 10 and all growing up that it brings. Over night, my little boy was replaced by a tween and over the last three months we've had to have "THE" talks. Shortly after his 10th birthday, we had our first "talk." The more in depth, birds-and-the-bees talk. Up until then, his knowledge consisted of: there's an egg from the mom, a seed from the dad, and a miracle from God. It was time for a little more comprehensive discussion. Surprisingly, he handled it very maturely and it was a whole lot less awkward than I had anticipated. I might have given myself a little {you nailed it!} pat on the back after that one. And then, last night, it was the other "talk." You know the one you really dread? About the Jolly Man in red. Yes. I had high hopes for one more year, just one more with all the wonder and amazement of Christmas morning. But it wasn't to be.
Yesterday, walking through the aisles of Target, Andrew began to question the Elf on the Shelf. {Noooooo! Not this year, not when pinterest has armed me with the most fantastical Elf staging ideas EVER!!} He felt it wasn't really adding up, the sales display, the book with the author's picture on the back, all of it started to seem a bit suspicious.
He turned to me and said, "So, Mom, do you move him every night?" I optimistically asked, "are you sure you want to know everything? There is magic involved and once you know how it all works the magic will be gone. Are you SURE you want the magic to be gone? Really, really, REALLLY sure??" He thought for a few minutes, reminded me I said the same thing to him last year. And yes, he was sure he wanted to know "the whole truth." So, I told him. I could see the wheels starting to spin. I braced myself. Not 5 minutes later, he looks at me, "Mom, later tonight, I think I'm ready to know the whole truth about Santa too." My heart sank. His childhood was officially over. Bam. Right there in a Target store of all places. {I'm aware of my dramatics, thank you.}
And so, after Charlie was tucked in, I gave Andrew a tweaked version of this letter. I thought it was so sweet and such a gentle way to break it to him. I cried as I wrote my version of the letter, sobbed as I walked to his room with the letter in hand, and stood there red eyed and sniffling. He asked me to stay as he read the letter. I readied myself for the disappointment, the tears. There wasn't either. He read the letter two times, and then said "I don't get it. Santa is real? Santa isn't? Just tell me, do you buy the gifts, eat the cookies, write the letters and stuff the stockings?" Um, yeah, I do. {So much for the letter!} Then he said, "I kinda figured" and went about working on his Legos. What? Really? No tears. I just crushed what was left of your childhood and you barely shrug?!
About an hour later, he was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter and I saw him chocking back a sob. The little quivering lips before the tears fall. "Andrew? You ok, babe?" Well, he had remembered a letter I {as Santa} had written when he was in first grade. That was given with one of my {as Santa} more exceptional gifts, a very rare, long discontinued Lego mini figure that the Chief Elf had found in one of the reindeer's pens {ebay}. A letter he still has tacked on his bulletin board under piles of swim meet ribbons, achievement certificates and post cards from friends. Realizing that was all my handy work and not a magical moment at the North Pole made him sad. We hugged and that was that.
I went to bed feeling a little sorry for myself. A little bummed that Christmas will never be the same. Feeling a little old, if I'm being honest. Not to fear though, I've still got a good 4 to 5 more years of playing Santa and plenty of magic to wave around for Charlie, I'll just have an extra "elf" helping me out!