"So Mom is there a Santa Claus?" asked my vibrant six year old this morning. It's a pretty standard question around here-in December. (I've got no idea what brings it up in May.)
I give my standard response. "No, honey. He's a nice pretend person."
[I now pause to defend my Santa-killing position. Every Christmas I teach my children that Christmas is about the baby Jesus being born to be the Savior of mankind. If I teach them that Santa is real, at some point I'd have to admit the truth.
"Sorry Sweetheart, I was lying (in the nicest possible way). Santa is a wonderful pretend person. But not Jesus. He's not a wonderful pretend person. Well, he's wonderful, but not pretend. I wasn't lying about Jesus. He's real. Sure you've seen Santa and he was a fake and you haven't seen Jesus, but I testify to you that he's real. Really, really real."
I didn't want to go there. So back to my standard answer.]
"No, honey. He's a nice pretend person."
"MOM! Don't say that. He is too. He's real. And he gives you one less present every time you say that!" V. informed me.
"Hm...I have noticed the take getting smaller every year. Maybe there's something to that, V."