Wolfie is in second grade. Age seven. Such a transitional year. My little guy is growing up, there’s no denying it. He is becoming so mature and smart, with opinions galore! I mean just look at him, this is a “big boy” now:

BUT….he’s also still my little boy. The same little cutie who loves cuddle time with mama. Bedtime stories sitting on daddy’s lap. Sleeping with an army of stuffed animals. And who still believes in the tooth fairy (he was quite concerned about the size of the piece of tape I put on the envelope containing his tooth. “She’s very little, you know. What if she can’t open it??”) And to date, he still believes in Santa Claus. I know Santa isn’t for everyone, but to me Santa is all about the childhood innocence of believing in magic—and celebrating the spirit of giving/goodwill/cheer/happiness that is much a part of the holiday.

A few of his classmates are already starting to move into “Santa doesn’t exist” territory. And because of this, I worry that this will be the last year Wolfie believes too. I hope not. It seems awfully soon…I’d love just one more year. Nothing beats that sense of wonder and delight when he wakes up oh-so-early Christmas morning and comes racing into our bedroom to whisper loudly, “He was here mama! Oh you have to see! There are so many presents under the tree!!!” It makes me so happy. And you can bet that this year I make sure to really take it all in and enjoy that sweet twinkle in his eye as he grins happily and gives everyone hugs.