The Day the Magic Died

We have not been staunch protectors of parental mythological secrets.  When our children have asked challenging questions, we've neither confirmed nor denied their suspicions.  We simply respond with something along the lines of "wow, how do you think Santa makes it to every house in the world in one night?"  When they'd pretty much worked it out for themselves and presented their case, we simply explained that as a family, we play some fun games.  Those who wish to continue to reap the benefits of the game (i.e. presents) must continue to play the game.  Those who are tired of receiving presents from Santa are free to stop playing.  When they vocally question the magic of the game the response is something like "are we done playing the game?  because my life would be certainly be simplified if we stopped playing the game."  This usually elicits a response of "oh no, I'm still playing the game!" 

This year my seven-year-old discovered "air quotes."  His new version of the game therefore is to ask me questions like "did you tell 'santa' about those shoes I want for Christmas?"  I'm not so sure this qualifies as playing the game, but it's pretty cute.  So this year "Santa" made no effort to hide all those amazon packages that arrive all December long.  Instead they just piled up in my office--the pay off here is how crazy that pile of boxes drove my children.  "What do you think is in this one?  Can I open just one?!"  to a response of "you peek or guess, game's over and it goes back."  Tons of mental torture fun. 

Today my son lost a tooth.  He came running to me with the bloody thing in his hand asking what he should do with it.  Grossed out, I suggested he throw it in the garbage and the "toothfairy" would hand him 50 cents here and now.  He declined and chose instead to play the game.  I hope I remember to scrounge up some quarters before I pass out tonight.  This "toothfairy" has a poor track record for remembering her duty.