If you still believe, STOP reading now!
I am a bad mother. A really bad mother. I did a bad thing. My kids love Christmas and l love it too. I worked really hard to make sure they had lots of presents to open, even if a lot of them were from the UK equivalent of the Dollar Store. The existence of Santa was a given. They left mincepies and sherry for him, a carrot for Rudolph and a little bit of cheese for Santa Mouse. When they reached the age of twenty I decided I had to tell them the truth. Okay, when they were nine and ten. I figured it wasn't a good idea to go to big school thinking the guy existed. But I kept chickening out of telling them. I sort of hoped they already knew and were playing along to make sure they still got presents and kept me and their dad happy.
Then the hamster died. Well, he didn't die. I had to take him to the vet and the vet had to make him die because he was - well I won't go into details. Sob? I was hysterical, despite the fact that the little blighter terrified me. The hamster, not the vet. Teeth like razors and he seemed to find me especially tasty. Again - hamster, not the vet. So that night, while the kids were crying over the loss of Fudge, I figured - they're already upset, I might as well tell them about Santa and get all the tears out of the way.
They sobbed so hard and so long they didn't sleep. So I didn't sleep. My son threw up. My daughter threw up because her brother threw up. I felt like throwing up. Husband by the way - fast asleep in bed.
The kids still bring it up. The night Mum killed Santa. I've been trying to make up for it ever since.
If only they still liked presents from the Dollar Store.