I knew their days were numbered. This magical band of misfits had a good run. I’m just not ready to say good bye. Case in point, when he asked me in 1st grade…
Of course, baby. That’s absolute nonsense.
And in 2nd grade.
What? Who in their right mind told you that craziness? How do the presents get here then, hm? Insanity.
In 3rd grade.
Yes. Kids may say that, but maybe they’re the naughty ones? (not my finest moment)
This was even after, Tell me the truth, Mom.
I feel guilty even disclosing this information publically, but what’s a mom to do? I panicked. He was questioning and watching me with searching eyes while I was applying mascara in the bathroom mirror and I got flustered. Immediately floods, no, avalanches of visions of sugar plums. candy canes lanes. breakfast pancakes with Santa and fantasy trains. HoHoHo and To all a good night. eight prancing reindeer. sugar and spice. North Pole wonderment…magic*wonder*lists*naughty* nice*flying sleds*work shop elves* nasally Rudolph…. all flashed past my eyes like a bad enchanted high speed dream. Make it stop. Make it stop!
No. I just wasn’t ready to let go. In turn, I lied. I’m not proud of this and know what I have to do next. First, however, I have to come to terms with ending these magical liaisons myself. I feel like I am breaking up a beautiful relationship. Ending something that has been so right in so many ways, but has finally run its course. We’ve grown apart. My boy’s grown up.
It’s not you, it’s me. You’re great. You have so much going for you. We’ve just got some figuring out and growing up to do. We will always cherish the magical times spent with you in fictional fantasy land. We will look back at this decade with the utmost fondness and affection. You’ve given us some of the best moments of our childhood lives. No regrets.
Take care of yourself big guy.
I could cry.
To add insult to injury, as in any serious break up, all association with the partner’s friends and family are forfeited. The entire jig is up. The whole fantasy bubble busted. So long Tooth Fairy. Nice knowing you St. Nick. Don’t let the back door hit you, where the good Lord split you, Easter Bunny. Oh God. Really?
Yes, really, it is time. Even with intuitively knowing this already, last Christmas night it was cruelly confirmed fully when I was forced to have an untimely, watered down birds-and-bees talk with my ten year old after he mistakenly read something online that rhymes with, say, Shmoobs and asked me related questions concerning such. No, you are not supposed to be having even remotely related conversations about shmoobs or anything of the sort, while still courting Santa Clause. I know this much is true.
So we have to move on with our lives. Pick up the pieces and forge ahead into adolescence, sans our magical band of misfits…swapping Easter eggs for 5th grade spring chicks, sparkling tooth fairy dust for wafts of Axe body spray, excited Christmas morning wide eyes and endearing letters to Santa for preteen IPad face time and texts messages to friends.
It’s the end of an era, but a love affair I will always hold near and dear to my heart.