You do not want to be the "Dream Crusher"

This is my new title. One could also substitute the words "Robber of Childhood Hope" or "Destroyer of Kids' Faith in Parental Honesty." All phrases would apply, and there are probably others as well.

Today, I broke my almost 11-year old daughter's heart, when I shared with her, over delicious DQ Blizzards, the truth about Santa Claus. It's something I've been planning on sharing with her for a long time now, and today we had an opportunity to have some time alone together, so I decided to go for it.

It was doomed from the get-go.

As I was building up to it, sharing with her that it was something I've been wanting to tell her about for a while now, but trying to find the right time to do it, her eyes got really big. She interrupted me before I could get to my main point, and with trepidition in her voice, she hesitantly asked, "Am I adopted?"

I was stunned. I still have no idea where that idea came from. Poor thing; she was seriously worried that I was about to inform her that I didn't really give birth to her, and was very upset by the prospect.

I immediately reassured her that she was absolutley born from my body; I have the stretch marks to prove it.

She was greatly relieved. However, that feeling was short-lived.

I explained that she was going through a sort of rite of passage and joining the ranks of all the grown-ups in the world with this knowledge. Then, I went on to divulge the role of mom and dad, in regards to Santa Claus.

The innocent little freckled face registered shock. Blue eyes immediately filling with tears, she barely squeaked out, "Mom, you're crushing my dreams!" before she burst into gut-wrenching fits of sobbing.

At that moment, I felt like the most horrible person in the world. I wanted to reverse time and take it all back. I felt a very strong urge to punish myself (if you've seen the movie "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets," you may remember Dobby the house elf, and his intense need to punish himself when he did something he thought might be bad - that was me, wishing I could bash myself with a table lamp repeatedly right then and there).

But, it was too late. The jig was up. I couldn't go back and change it. And my punishment was just: I had to attempt to comfort my daughter, whose heart I had just broken into a million little pieces. Anyone who is a parent knows that, as a mom, you would do almost anything to spare your child pain. As that was impossible, and because I was the one responsible for causing this distress, I felt especially lower lifeform-ish.

Once the worst of the sobbing past, the questions began. "Do my older sisters already know? What about my friends? And what about the Tooth Fairy? Is that fake, too?" I answered each of her questions as honestly as possible. I explained that these were the only things that I have ever lied to her about, and why I felt compelled to perpetuate the falsehood up to now. We talked about how magical things are for little ones, and how it's the only time in life where people can believe in that kind of magic. I promised I'd not lie to her ever again, and asked for her forgiveness.

In time, she ended up being alright. She told me she is glad she heard it from me, and not someone at school. She mentioned that now it made sense to her, why her friend got five dollars from the Tooth Fairy, when she only got fifty cents (pile on more guilt for being cheap). And finally, she agreed to allow her little brother to enjoy the magic for a few more years, and help us all to make that possible for him.

But, she was so sad. And she didn't know why. I told her that I thought she was grieving, and explained what grief was. When we lose something that's important to us, whether it's a person or a home or a belief, it's really hard. And grieving is a normal, healthy part of the way we process things in life and that it was okay to be sad.

As I've been thinking about this all evening, I've come to the conclusion that I'm grieving, too. I'm grieving that I broke my baby girl's heart. I'm grieving that, as a parent, it's really hard to know sometimes when the timing is right to divulge certain things to your kids, and that I screw up and hurt them sometimes. I'm so sad that I can be trying to do something that I think is right, and the resulting anguish caused by my choices, although unforseen, could have possibly been delayed or softened, had I known how to manage it.

So, for now, I am resigned to being the "Dream Crusher" in the family.

I strongly recommend you leave this job to someone else, if at all possible.

Maturity

Have you ever experienced something that made you suddenly realize you might be turning into your mother? And it scared you, just a little bit?

I remember when I was in high school and, for some reason, had the misopportunity to catch a view of my mother stark naked. Now, my mom was by no means grossly obese or disfigured or anything like that. But, in my 17 year-old mind, with my seventeen year old body, I thought to myself, Ew! And, something along the lines of, please don't let me ever, ever look like that when I get old! All wrinkles and excessive dimpling and extra flesh around the midsection; yuck!

Fast forward to the present.

Recently, I was dismayed when I went to give my sixteen year old daughter a hug. She was stiff-armed a little bit, and wouldn't let me get too close to her, and I was wondering what the heck was wrong.

Upon inquiring, the aforementioned sixteen year old informed me that she
didn't want me to squeeze her so tight because, when I did, my poo-chi, which as a result of my Nutter Butter addiction, now sticks out further than my underwhelming A-cups, and she informed me that it "creeped her out a little bit" as it squished into to her flat little stomach while I tried to hug her.

Huh. Well then. How 'bout that?

My response, of course, was to tell her to enjoy her flat stomach while she can; genetics (or perhaps a genetic Nutter Butter problem) would be coming to catch up with her some day.

Her response: the obligatory eye roll, accompanied by a long-suffering heavy sigh, and immediately followed with an extremely un-heartfelt, "Thanks Mom."

My always-mature reply wasn't long in the making: I snottily snapped out, "You're welcome."

And when she wasn't looking, I stuck my tongue out at her.

I am now patiently waiting for her to reach her 40's and realize I am right. And I will have my evil laugh cued up and ready to roll when it happens.