When I was a wee lass of nine or ten, a few months before Christmas that year my younger sister and I approached our mother with an important topic of discussion. The gravity that only tweens can project and the timing could mean but one thing: we were about to blow the whole 'Santa Claus' racket sky-high.
As the oldest, I took the lead, "Mom, we've [my sister and I] been talking and we've come to a decision."
My mom, anticipating and dreading this day, girded her loins and ready to admonish us not to spoil things for our much younger sister took a deep breath - "Okay."
"Mom, we've decided that Santa has to be real because there is no way you and Dad could afford all of those presents!"
And like that, the mystery was preserved for a while longer. In fact, I don't think she's still ever actually 'told' us. Kind of like the non-existent sex talk. Huh. This certainly explains a lot.
Flash forward 30 years.
Last night at dinner, the topic turned to what the kids might like for Christmas and given the amount of 'live' TV they've watched with accompanying commercials, there is no shortage of things they wish they had when Noelle turned to me, "Mommy, do you believe in Santa?"
She's asked me this before and I told her the truth as I believe it, "Yes, I believe in the spirit of Santa." (Okay, so I kind of mumble the whole 'spirit' part but in my defense, she never listens to the second half of a sentence anyway.)
"Me too! You and Daddy can't afford all those presents."
Ladies and gentlemen, start your flux capacitors.