Every December I wonder, is this the year?  Is this the year my oldest decides there cannot possibly be a fat man with flying reindeer who circles the globe in one night, and comes down the chimney with toys for all the good little children?  

When I was a child, I remember asking if there was really such a thing as Santa Claus, and my mother said we would talk about it the next year.  I suspected the truth, so I let it be.  But the next year I reminded her of her promise, and pressed for an answer.  I was eight.  She answered with another question, “Who do you think Santa is?” 

“You,” I answered.   

“And who else?” 

“Daddy.” 

“That’s right,” she confirmed.  

I had known already, because as you grow older you begin to realize that certain beliefs don’t seem to follow the normal course of the world around you.  Reindeer don’t fly, for example.  Animals that fly have wings, and reindeer do not.  And looking up the chimney, it seems rather narrow.   Big things simply do not fit into small spaces.  But knowing, and knowing, are two separate things. 

Some of the magic left that year, and it cannot be reclaimed.  It is intangible, indefinable, a nameless wonder and fascination that thrills the mind and warms the heart.  And it only belongs to children. 

I strive to remind my children each year of the real reason we celebrate Christmas.  I explain presents to them when they are very young by saying that at Jesus’ birthday party, everybody gets presents!  We read the story of the nativity.  In the pockets of our advent calendar, I hide stickers of animals, shepherds, angels, stars, Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus.  Each day we add a sticker to a simple outline of a stable taped to the wall, and slowly create a little paper and sticker nativity. 

But let’s face it, Santa has a mystique about him that no kid can resist!  To let go, well, it’s a major rite of passage, at least from my mom eyes.  

So this year, if Julia asks me, how do I respond?  

She has tentatively broached the subject before, with questions such as “Mommy, why do some of the kids in my class not believe in Santa Claus?”  and “Do you believe in Santa, Mommy?”.   I have explained that lots of grownups don’t believe, and that some of the children in her class have already moved on from believing to not believing.  

Do I believe?  

“I choose to believe,” I answered. 

She was content to leave it at that, but I know that she simply was afraid to pursue it any further, because she already knows what she would find.  She is nine years old, in fourth grade.  Last year she may have chosen to accept the impossible, to cling to the magic, but what about this year?  Will she still cling, or will she announce with disdain that there is simply no such thing as Santa Claus?  Or worse, will she force me to utter a firm “yes” or “no”? 

And I’m afraid I’m going to have some explaining to do. 

You see, our cats barf a lot.  Especially Boo Boo.  If you are not careful, you may step in something in the middle of the night that you would just as soon not have on your foot.  Last Christmas Eve, in the middle of the night, after getting something gross on my foot that was left on the floor by the foot of our bed, I hastily grabbed a towel from the hamper and wiped so that I would not step in it twice. 

Turns out I didn’t do a very good cleaning job in the dark.  A funny shaped smear was left on the shiny hardwood floors, and it strangely looked like a really big print from a really big shoe.  My husband got the kids, and told them to look at the boot print Santa had left in our room! 

“He must have come in to make sure we were sleeping,” Jerry explained. 

They bought it, hook, line and sinker.  They talked for days about how Santa had left a boot print!  They pondered why they had not heard him, and did he check on all of us?  The magic was alive, and for Julia, confirmed anew. 

Oh, I know, it is inevitable.  I cannot stop my child from growing up.  But with the wonder of my three children at the fat man in the red suit, I can almost feel the magic again.  And I know that when Julia lets go, Christmas will never again hold quite the same aura for her..  Then she will join the club of the secret keepers, and aid us in continuing the myth for her two little brothers.  Eventually they will all go the path of the non-believers, and the magic will be gone. 

And nothing is going to knock the magic out harder than learning the “proof” was cat barf.