From my journal:

On Christmas eve, as I wrote some e-mail at my computer, I noticed my eleven-year-old son, my eldest, standing quietly in the garage doorway, holding open the door and looking into the darkened garage. He knew the shadows held some wrapped gifts - he'd stumbled on a bag of video games David bought for him and his little brother earlier. I then heard his voice behind me, a voice tinted with the faintest color of disappointment. He asked softly, "Mommy, Santa does exist, right?"

"Sure," I said, "Santa is the spirit of Christmas - he's very real."

We gazed at each other only a moment. "Hm," he shrugged. "Okay."

At that he walked away, thinking about it, logic obviously challenged. He's known for some time that the tooth fairy doesn't really leave money under his pillow. He's mentioned before the fact that "Santa's" gifts sometimes have the same wrapping paper as the stuff he gets from us. He never really bought the "letter" from Santa I wrote one year.

He didn't want to stop believing in Santa even though his logic told him otherwise.

So, we accommodated him. David and I put him to bed along with his brother and sister (who have no "Santa" issues at this point) and we re-did the tags on "Santa's" gifts so that they'd be strikingly different than all the others. We spread some flour on the fireplace to make it look like magic dust...we "ate" the cookies left there and "drank" the milk.

Just one more year of believing for Jared.

I'm hoping that one day the disappointment will fade and he'll understand that "Santa" is indeed alive and well and lovely - I'm hoping he'll know that it's his daddy, truly.