One of the main things about Christmas is the sense of magic that the children have. Their little faces lit up with the sheer excitement and belief that a 6ft fat bloke in a red suit does actually deliver their presents. It is also a god send to harassed parents as the old clichÃ© line of being good for Santa can be recited when needed in the build up to the season.
But what happens when you realise that your children arenâ€™t as young as you think they are and they have wised up to the Santa thing. My oldest has known Iâ€™m Santa for awhile when she twigged that Santaâ€™s handwriting on the gift tags was just like mums, not to mention that we must have bought wrapping paper at the same place. Â She kept the secret for her younger brotherâ€™s sake and if anything it built a secret bond between us as we knew the truth but were united to keep the magic going for him.
Except this week I feel as though the magic has all gone as now even he admitted to knowing that Santa was actually me. I feel somewhat deflated by his announcement. Â There has been no letters to Santa this year and even worse I canâ€™t bribe them to be good. I feel as if I have learnt Santa isnâ€™t real all over again and Christmas now has no magic at all.
Of course there is one other major downside to it all is that they were always rather reserved in their wish lists to Santa as he was a busy man who had to buy a lot of presents. Now itâ€™s a different matter. I of course donâ€™t have to buy presents for the whole world nor apparently am I that busy. Instead of the sweet, best handwritten letters with pictures of dolls and cars that Santa was treated to, I get a list. A long list at that, complete with what shop to find each item, the prices and in preference order. Funnily enough though, the most expensive items at the top. Â
So my magic of Christmas has truly been stolen by my wised up and growing up fast children. Another thing they donâ€™t warn you of when you first become a parent.