Ava’s commitment to believe in Santa despite her parent’s claims otherwise has been well documented here, here, and here.

For over a month now, Ava has been sharing her “secret” plan to stay up all night long when Santa comes. When her Mimi was here for Thanksgiving, Ava explained to her that when Santa comes, she’s going to lock all doors, so that Santa can’t leave. Then she is going to wake everyone up in the whole house so that they will finally see that Santa is real.

Someone has neglected to tell her Santa’s little nose trick.

This week while Ava was acting out the play-by-play of Ava-Meets-Santa in our living room, she realized that she’s not going to be in her house on Christmas Eve. She’s going to be at Mimi’s house. She then asked if we could write this note:

Dear Santa,

I love you very much.

I’m not here. I’m at Mimi’s house.

I’m going to be waiting up all night so I can see you.

I love you, Santa.

Love, Ava

She thinks that if we bake some very special cookies to leave with the note that he will think “that that Ava’s just so special” and will come to her Mimi’s house.

Now, I’m not one to squelch imagination. So mostly I play along as the unbelieving mother, whom she is eager to convert. She’s kind of like a Santa-evangelist.

This was a rather agreeable arrangement, one I thought would dissolve on December 25th when Santa neglected to leave her any gifts.

On Monday morning, she woke up on the wiser side of bed and crawled into mine to snuggle. “Mama, Santa’s not really real, is he?”

“No, Ava, he’s just a fun story.”

“Yeah, he’s a fun story. Like a make-believe, pretend story.”

“Yes. And Ava, sometimes people dress up like Santa and pretend to be Santa.”

“Like a play?”

“Yes, just like a play.”

A few hours later, I dropped her off my newly minted Santa-skeptic at preschool. And in equal span of time, I picked her up again. Yet, this time she was glowing.

“Mama! Santa came here! Santa came and not a pretend Santa, the really really real Santa. And Mrs. Claus too. He gave us candy canes and presents and he was really real. He had a real beard; there wasn’t a string and it was white and curly. And when he laughed, his belly jiggled like a bowlful of jelly! It’s really true.

“How do you know he was really real?

“Cause I asked him and he said wasn’t pretending? And he’s coming to my house on Christmas, so there!”

There you have it.

I surrender. I can’t compete with  a gift-dispensing, jelly-bellied man and his jolly wife.