My sister and I went on a Target run last week. Among vent sessions, missing the exit, spending money on unnecessary gifts, and eating a disappointing diner lunch (I mean, who makes egg salad on plain old bread instead of toast?!), we had simultaneous mother meltdowns. You know, as you do in Target.
It started out innocently enough. We were talking about what our kids want for Christmas. Our older kids are six months apart and just starting to get to the age where the presents they ask for are on the expensive side. Case in point: Jack wants a $400 train set. Samantha wants a Nook.
The problem we’re having this year is that our kids are old enough to dream big while simultaneously marveling at the fact that they can because, as my nephew puts it, “the best thing about Christmas is that everything’s free.”
This is not an easy thing to explain around two smart seven year olds. I tried the whole “You know, a Nook is a pretty big present. If you got it, you might not get much else.” The response was more or less an Isn’t that sweet? She doesn’t get how this works look and the explanation that Santa makes things. He doesn’t pay for them. Silly me!
Still, the conversation with my sister eventually turned to dreading the day our kids don’t believe. It feels like a major loss of innocence to both of us and we both still remember the days we definitively found out with anger.