Last week, was probably one of my favorite weeks of my life so far (maybe God read my blog about my dread of turning 39 and decided to show me it wasn’t all bad). Then, I started Monday morning with a little bit of grieving. I say little bit, because nobody in my family died or had an accident—nothing that big. In fact, my grief is a bit shallow, but it’s still there and I gotta own what I’m feeling.
This weekend, my girls finally figured out that the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus were ***GASP*** me and Brian. The conversations started in the car on Sunday afternoon, when Caroline leaned forward and said, “You guys are the ones who fill our Easter baskets, huh?” I answered with the standard, “What do you think?” When she said that she thought we did it, I asked Hope what she thought. She said, “No—I think the Easter Bunny does it.” So Brian and I wiggled around and were able to change the subject.
Then Monday morning—my day off in which I planned to sleep in-- Brian told me that Hope asked him if there really was an Easter Bunny, so he told her the truth. We always said we wouldn’t lie. I had a conversation with her afterward where she told me that she didn’t know if she could believe us anymore. It made me sad.
I’ve heard of parents not pretending about the Easter Bunny, Santa and the Tooth Fairy because of that very reason, but, now that I’m faced with the reality, I’m at a loss for what to do. We discussed it further and she seemed to be ok, but we had to re-visit it that night.
Then, she asked her sister a question that made her start down the path again on whether the Easter Bunny w as real. She didn’t tell her (she had been asked not to spoil it for Caroline) but she led her. So I told her, too. After a few minutes, Caroline asked, “So are you guys Santa, too?” When I nodded, she burst into tears.
When she dried her eyes, she asked if we were the ones who bought the trampoline and couldn’t believe we were able to do that. I had overheard them a few months ago talking about a friend’s trampoline that was smaller than ours. They came to the conclusion it was because their parents bought theirs and Santa brought ours. HA!
The mood lightened, but I started my Monday out by grieving a little. I’ve been enjoying this stage of life for my girls—they are old enough to still want me around, but are becoming independent. They are not little anymore. And I’m honestly surprised that I’m sad. Working for a church, I’ve had to miss their faces most Easter mornings when they found their baskets (I’m usually long gone before they wake up). I was just thinking this past week how I wished they knew the truth so I didn’t have to pretend anymore. Guess I got my wish.
I’ve always heard not to wish away the years and I thought I did a pretty good job of that (except during Hope’s potty training phase and Caroline’s colic). BUT, it’s been a good reminder to me, moving forward.
Of course, they haven’t asked yet about the Tooth Fairy—the one I really wanted them to know was me (although I might have to blame Brian for the couple of slip-ups she had last month). Guess I’ll another chance to live in the moment with them and not wish that away, too.