by Jen Mann
I might not be an overachiever, but I’m pretty sneaky, so I had an idea that could save the day for at least another year.
Me: Get him something else. Something big. Like a bike or something. Something that you’ve always said no to, but the Easter Bunny says yes to. Something dangerous and/or expensive.
Lavinia: That’s what Newman said, too! I think you’re right. Clifford broke his DS earlier this year because he was careless with it and we told him he needed to save his money to buy a replacement. He’d be stunned if the Easter Bunny brought him a brand-new DS.
Me: There you go. That should work.
Lavinia: Let me think about it. Thanks for talking me down. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but it really bothered me.
Me: I understand. It’s really important to you. But you know, the boys are nine now. They won’t believe in this stuff much longer. We might as well get used to the idea now.
Lavinia: I know. But he’s my only one. I’ve got to try to make it last as long as I can.
I put down my phone and thought about how I’d feel if Gomer stopped believing in Santa and the Easter Bunny and all of it. I decided it was no big thing. I’m not that Overachieving Mom who makes it spectacular and magical. I’m not that mom who totally gets excited watching my kids’ eyes light up on Christmas morning when they see what Santa brought them. I couldn’t care less. In fact, I told myself, I’d be relieved when it was all over and out in the open! I wouldn’t have to hide my pile of goodies or stay up late on Christmas Eve to build toy kitchens and doll houses. I wouldn’t have to wake up in a panic the morning after Adolpha lost a tooth and make up some lame story about the Tooth Fairy being afraid of the dark so she couldn’t venture into Adolpha’s room to leave her a dollar and instead she left the money on the kitchen counter. Frankly, I was exhausted from making up Tooth Fairy lies. That chick drove me nuts! No, I wouldn’t be sad like Lavinia, because life would be so much easier when they knew. I’d be happy when they knew!
Later that night I was reading to my kids before bed when Gomer announced giddily, “Adolpha, I’m so excited, aren’t you? I can hardly wait for the Easter Bunny tonight. I wonder what he’ll bring us!”
Adolpha shrugged. “He doesn’t bring much. He’s not like Santa. He only brought me a book and a DVD last year. Even his candy isn’t as good as Santa’s. In fact, I think last year he gave me the chocolate bunny that Mom put in the cupboard from the year before.”
“Hmm…I never thought about it. You might be right.”
Uh-oh, I thought. Adolpha might figure out this whole scheme before Gomer does!
“Well, it doesn’t matter! I’m still excited,” Gomer exclaimed. He snuggled under his covers. “I’m going to go to sleep extra early tonight!”
Okay, he knows. He totally knows, I thought. At this point, I assumed Gomer was acting. There was no way this kid still believed that hard. I was sure he was putting on an act for his sister.
“I hope the Easter Bunny brings me a Halo guy,” he said.
Crap. I had no idea what a “Halo guy” was. He was getting some cheap DVD out of the kid movie clearance bin at Walmart and a Lego set.
“What are you hoping for?” I asked Adolpha. Maybe I was correct in my thinking that she still liked stuffed animals. Getting it right for one out of two isn’t so bad.
She shrugged again. “I dunno. Whatever. It’ll be fine.”
Good girl.
I went back to reading, and then Gomer interrupted me. “Hey, Mom! I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What’s up?”
“Are parents the Easter Bunny?”
I put down the book. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Well, you know, if you don’t believe, he doesn’t come,” I said, turning back to my book, assuming the thought of possibly losing out on a Halo guy and some crappy chocolate would shut him up and our conversation would be over for another year.
He sighed heavily, exasperated. “I know that. It’s just that I think…maybe…it’s you.”
“Hmm,” I said, neither confirming nor denying.
“I just don’t see how it can be done otherwise. There are so many kids in the world and just one Easter Bunny.”
“He’s magic, Gomer!” Adolpha said.
“I’m not sure I believe in magic anymore, Adolpha,” Gomer said. “Tell me, Mom. Is it you?”
“Hmm,” I said again, trying to buy some time while my brain worked on a fairly elaborate lie that involved wormholes for the Easter Bunny to travel through.
“Stop that!” Gomer said. “Just tell me the truth.”
“The truth?”
“Yes,” Gomer said. Then he looked me square in the eye and said, “And don’t lie.”
Oh no, I thought frantically, shit just got real. See, in our house we have a rule: if someone says “Don’t lie,” then you can’t lie. No matter what. It’s impossible. Not a white lie, not a gray area. Nothing. When Gomer asked me where babies came from when he was five, he used the “don’t lie” move on me, and suddenly he became the most educated kid in kindergarten. “Don’t lie” is a big deal around here.
“Don’t lie?” I asked carefully, hoping he’d change his mind.
“Nope. The truth.” He crossed his arms and stared me down.
“Adolpha, please go brush your teeth,” I said.
“Whyyyyy?” whined Adolpha.
Because I’m going to blow your brother’s mind and I need you to stay innocent for another year, kid, that’s why!
“Because I said so.”
She huffed out of the room and left me and Gomer alone.
“Are you sure you want to know?” I asked, closing his bedroom door.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Are you sure you can handle the truth?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” he said.
“Okay. Ask me your question again.”
Gomer took a deep breath. “Are parents the Easter Bunny? Don’t lie.”
I waited half a second and then I nodded slightly.
What happened next was like something out of a cartoon. His eyes bugged out of his head, and if there was a sound effect, it would have been that awoooga wooooga noise. He fell over onto his side and lay there for a moment, perfectly still.
Holy shit. I really did blow his mind!
“Gomer?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
He sat back up. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were shiny and he looked like he might lose his shit at any moment.
“You really didn’t know?” I asked incredulously. He shook his head. “You didn’t suspect at all?” He shook his head again. What sort of bubble did this kid live in? I wondered.
“No,” he sighed heavily.
I didn’t know what else to say except “Oh.”
I felt terrible. I had ruined what little magic I actually do. I should have lied! I should never have told him the truth! Now I was going to cry!
“You said ‘don’t lie,’ ” I said, trying to put the blame back on him. “You shouldn’t have said that. You know how serious that is.”
“I know,” he said. He was quiet for a minute, and then he said, “Well, at least Santa is still real, right?”
The horrified expression on my face told him everything he needed to know.
His hopeful little face fell and he screeched, “He’s you, too? You gave me the skateboard last year?”
I nodded. God, I suck at parenting, I thought. I was ruining everything for him, but I couldn’t stop myself. It had been so hard living this lie for so long. It felt good to come clean and to tell him the truth.
“Of course you’re Santa! Only a mom would give a helmet and knee pads and wrist guards along with the skateboard. Santa would never do that.”
“I want you to have fun but still be safe,” I said, gently stroking his head.<
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Gomer sat quietly for a few minutes thinking of all the gifts he’d received from “Santa” over the years. “The skateboard…the DS…all of those Legos. Hey, wait! You said I couldn’t have the Lego Death Star because Santa’s elves couldn’t make it,” he said accusingly. “You just didn’t want to buy it!”
“Gomer, that is a four-hundred-dollar Lego set! There was no way I was going to buy that for you.”
“Yeah,” he sighed.
Adolpha stuck her head in the door. “What are you guys doing in here? Mommy, are you going to tuck me in?”
“Yes!” I yelled, panicking. “Get to bed!” I couldn’t take the chance that Gomer would ruin the magic for Adolpha. “Go! I’ll be there in a second.”
Once Adolpha shut the door again, I turned to Gomer. “Listen, this is a big deal. You’re a big boy now who knows a big secret. You cannot ruin it for the little kids around you. You can’t tell Adolpha or anyone else what you know. Sherman knows, but Violet does not, and Uncle C.B. and Aunt Ida will be really irritated if you ruin it for her. If you ruin this for any little kids, you will be in huge trouble. Got it?”
Gomer solemnly nodded his head. “Got it,” he said.
“Good boy,” I said, kissing him. “You’re part of the magic now.”
I was worried Gomer would be sad the next day. However, he was anything but. I had warned him within an inch of his life not to spill the beans, and he really took my warning to heart. When he saw his Easter basket the next morning he overexaggerated for Adolpha’s sake.
“Loooooook, Adolpha. The Easter Bunny came last night and brought us some great stuff from his house, not at all from Target!” he exclaimed, and winked at me.
Real subtle, Gomer.
When they went out to hunt for Easter eggs at my mom’s house, Gomer was just a tad over the top. “Oh my! The Easter Bunny has been soooooo busy hiding all of these eggs, Adolpha. He’s soooo magical and amazing!” He gave my mom a wink that time.
That night when I tucked him into bed I told him I was proud of him for keeping the secret and doing a great job being such a big boy now.
He said, “It’s okay, Mom. I was sort of sad at first, but then I remembered I still have the Tooth Fairy and the Elf on the Shelf. Those aren’t you, right?”
Suddenly I knew exactly how Lavinia had felt the night before. I wasn’t ready. Sure, I don’t love keeping all the magic alive, but I hate even more how fast Gomer is growing up. I might not love moving a doll around or pretending to find dollar bills on the counter, but I love keeping Gomer little for a bit longer.
I smiled and kissed him, “Of course not. Goodnight.”
Hey, he didn’t say “Don’t lie.”
So you think you might be one of the characters in this book? Oh, please. You’re far too boring to be in this book. You really do think highly of yourself, don’t you? All of the names and circumstances in this book have been changed to protect the good, the bad, and the ugly. These are my stories and this is how I remember them. You might remember them differently. If you do, then you should go write your own book.
This book is dedicated to the Hubs, Gomer, Adolpha, and my family—thank you for supporting me, inspiring me, believing in me, and allowing me to write about all of you.
This book is also dedicated to my readers—thank you for finding me and “getting” me.
Wow, acknowledgments are tough. What if I forget somebody? That’s a lot of pressure. All right, let’s try this. I’m going to do my best. If I forget you, I apologize profusely. It was an accident. Or maybe it wasn’t. Who knows?
To my mom and dad: Thank you for always encouraging me to tell my stories. Thank you for giving me a childhood that we can all laugh at when we look back on it. Thank you for putting up your Christmas decorations in August.
To the Hubs: Thank you for always believing in me, even when I don’t believe in myself. Thank you for encouraging me to write and supporting me while I write. Thank you for buying me front-loaders for Christmas (that totally makes up for the scale for Mother’s Day). How about we get a new dishwasher this year? Thank you for being my best friend and making me laugh every day. Thank you for feeding our kids and for paying our bills on time.
To Gomer and Adolpha: Put this book down, you’re too young to read it. Now go to bed. Mommy loves you.
To Robin O’Bryant: Thank you for your words of advice and encouragement. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and your experience with me. I would like to be a sister wife—where do I apply?
To DG: Thank you for taking my frantic calls and for always knowing the right thing to say to me. Thank you for supporting everything I do and for being one of my biggest cheerleaders. And thank you for the mug. I drank hot cocoa from it in July when I was writing this book, just to get me in the proper mood.
To Nikki Knepper: Thank you for being the kindest and most loyal friend out there (who also sends me mugs—I guess I really like mugs). You are fearsome and soft and cuddly all at once, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.
To my tribe: When the water rises all boats rise.
To Christie R.: Thank you for coming up with the idea for this book. I owe you lunch.
To the W family: Thank you for giving my lazy ass Choppy Elfie and thus starting this whole adventure.
To my readers: I am so excited and amazed that anyone cares what I have to say. I love every email, comment, and tweet you send me. Don’t tell the Hubs, but you are the wind beneath my wings!
And last but not least, I want to acknowledge all the bloggers out there who are pouring their hearts and souls out every day for themselves and their readers. So many of us write because we have something to say. We have something we want to share with the world. It’s an outlet and it’s cathartic, but it’s also a passion. We’re all looking for an audience who can hear our voice and appreciate it. To those bloggers I want to say, don’t stop writing. Your people are out there and they will find you, but they won’t find you if you give up.
I’m the one on the right. My dad was obviously going for a “my two sons” look that year when he decided to dress us in matching Steve Austin track suits.
BY JEN MANN
People I Want to Punch in the Throat
Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat
JEN MANN is the nationally bestselling author of People I Want to Punch in the Throat, based on her popular blog of the same name. She has also written for The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, NickMom, Babble, Circle of Moms, and CNN Headline News. Her book was a finalist in the 2014 Goodreads Choice Awards and her blog received a 2014 Bloggie Award for Best Parenting Weblog. She lives in Overland Park, Kansas, and is married to “the Hubs” and is the mother of two children whom she calls Gomer and Adolpha on her blog. She swears their real names are actually worse.
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