Or are you a fairy killer?
This is the question I'm asking myself this Christmas. In Ally's Christmas card to Santa, painstakingly printed and illustrated, she asks for two specific gifts, in this order:
1. "To see a real fairy, please"
2. A trampoline (for the third year in a row)
I'm hoping there's another option for me: cool mom who tells the truth. Because no matter how many interesting ways I dream up to trick her, I just don't want to trick her.
Santa seems to be in good standing with her still, and for whatever reason, that one seems breezy. I've always imagined that when she comes to me, as I went to my mother, and asks me to give it to her straight, I will. She'll trade in a little of that delightful, childlike credulity for some bonafide grown-up knowledge.
But fairies, man. Innocent belief seems really, really precious right now. So hard to let it go.
POST-CHRISTMAS UPDATE: "Santa" left a book on building fairy houses. Questions asked, questions answered. As Ally says, "easy, peasy lemon-squeezy."
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