Our Santa reveal unravelled so many other magic family moments. Last year, the day after Christmas, by our cozy fireplace, we told our two daughters the truth about Santa: He’s us – Mom and Dad. We really should have taken a master-class on how to safely deliver such news to children, but we didn’t anticipate the snowball effect our revelation would have.
“I knew it!” our seven-year-old exclaimed triumphantly. She’d been questioning Santa’s validity like a detective for two years now.
“Santa is you!?” demanded our 10-year-old, holding on to her dear tears. She’d doubted Santa for some time, too, but loves the magic enough to pretend it’s real.
“So you put all the gifts into stockings and buy all the Santa presents?” the little detective pressed.
“Yep,” my husband and I replied in unison.
“Wait a second,” her sister jumped in, “does this mean Easter Bunny is you, too?”
I didn’t see that far ahead. Oh well, I thought there was no harm in telling them about the Bunny, too.
I could see the girls processing the new reality in disbelief.
“Hold on,” the detective continued, “and Elfie Liza is … you, too?”
“Err, yes,” I confessed, uneasily.
“So, it’s you who writes all the letters to us?” confirmed her sibling.
Elfie Liza has been part of our Christmas educational tradition. She originated from the mischievous Elf on the Shelf concept, first appearing in our house when our first-born was just one. She caused a lot of mischief for entertainment purposes, like “spilling” sugar all over the floor or eating all our cookies, but over time, I got tired of creating a mess at night only to clean it up the next morning. So, I repurposed our Elfie.
When the girls were five and two, Elfie Liza began visiting us each morning with handwritten letters in French. The idea was to spark excitement about foreign languages and it worked! Until last Christmas, our French literacy was always at its peak during December thanks to Elfie Liza.
“Well, it used to be me who wrote the letters,” I replied, “but now it’s … mostly …” I took a deep breath, “ChatGPT.”
Our girls’ eyes widened. “But how does it know so much about us?” they asked.
“Well, I’m skilled at prompting ChatGPT, using the stories that I gather from you every day, and then I tweak its output. I always add something relevant and personal myself, so I guess I’m still writing – or rather, editing – the letters,” I explained. And why wouldn’t I? The letters have gone from a few handwritten sentences when the girls were young to a full printed page. It takes a lot of time to do this nightly, once the girls are in bed, and I’m barely awake.
I deployed ChatGPT last year and cut my daunting storytelling time for letters to a fraction, along with my creativity, but at least I don’t have to stay up half the night coming up with and typing new stories.
At that moment, I began to worry about our next Christmas. I accepted that the era of December French literacy might be over. But at least I still had …
“Wait, wait, wait,” the detective interrupted my thought: “Is Gosha also you?”
Gosha is an imaginary gnome I discovered while searching for creative ways to teach my children Russian. The idea is similar to Elfie Liza, except I don’t have a physical gnome, and it’s not tied to Christmas. I simply buy packs of prewritten letters by Gosha (aimed at early Russian readers) from a Russian bookstore in Montreal, and I slip them into my children’s rooms. And voila – surprise!
“Well, technically, Gosha is not me,” I said reluctantly, trying to maintain the mystery. For once they know for sure that Gosha isn’t real, as they probably suspect, it’s game over. And I still had a pack of letters to go. To my surprise, the girls didn’t press further. Maybe they enjoyed the letters as much as I did, and didn’t want this bonding experience to end. But, no.
The interrogation continued: “What about the Tooth Fairy? She’s you, too? And the Switch Witch is also … you?”
Never have I felt so busted from my own initiative. How many innocent lies have I told my children to preserve our society’s traditions and my own twisted ones? The Switch Witch was our latest holiday deception from last Halloween: she (secretly) traded our kids’ candy for a Squishmallow toy and lasted only one season before being exposed!
This year, I felt sad. Gosha’s letters have stopped coming since the Revelation Day last December. The Easter Bunny was greeted with less enthusiasm. The Switch Witch didn’t visit on Halloween, though my kids traded their candy for cash, a purely business transaction. Only my husband refuses to retire as the Tooth Fairy; he still creeps in at night to swap money for a tooth when the occasion arises.
I anticipated no more magic from Elfie Liza this December. But then, after Halloween, our oldest asked, “Can Elfie Liza come sooner this year? Like in November?” And the youngest said one night, “Mom, I miss Gosha. Can he still write to me?”
After 10 agonizing months, the magic is slowly returning to our home.
As adults, we still like to receive gifts from Santa – there’s no reason to abandon traditions that keep us together, wonder-filled.
Olya Kaye lives in Toronto.
