The stuff legends are made of

When I was little, my mom was known to be the tooth fairy by the entire elementary school (or at least those who were young enough to believe in such things). She garnered this particular reputation thanks to an unfortunate sleepover where a tooth was lost, and small children pretended to sleep, and she was caught in the act of replacing the tooth with a quarter. Wide-eyed, my sister’s best friend gasped “Mrs. J! You’re the tooth fairy!” And my mother, unsure how to handle the situation, mumbled “Ummm…,” which was taken for a yes, and a legend was born.

This year I am in charge of Breakfast with Santa at our church, one of the obligations that I have been unable to unload onto someone else. So over the last few days I have been making frantic phone calls trying to locate a Santa (for free) and discussing the merits of various cheap toys for goody bags in a hushed voice over the phone. C quickly caught wind of what was going on, and apparently proudly announced to his entire class on Friday that “My mommy knows SANTA. And she has been talking to him. DAILY.”

As the students erupted from the school in joyful abandon at the end of the day, a hush fell over the crowd as the children surveyed me chasing A around and threatening her with various and sundry punishments if she didn’t get into the stroller “RIGHT NOW.” Then a little girl, whose name I still don’t know, screamed out “Everyone! Be good! C’s mom is here! And she’s going to tell Santa on all of us!” And twenty-three kindergarteners quietly walked to their very confused parents. Thus, another legend was born.

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