I Hate Lying About Santa

I Hate Lying About Santa

I hate lying about Santa. Hate it. I’m fine until the kid’s start asking questions, then the feeling of lying through my teeth just eats away at me. I often look down at the ground when I answer or I just avoid the subject by creating a distraction “Look! Chocolate!”

I remember being told Santa wasn’t real. Mum broke the news to me at 11 years old. I probably would have still believed in Santa at 20 the way things were at the time. So wrapped up in being an 11-year-old I didn’t even question these things.

I remember feeling stupid, Duh, of course, he isn’t real. Once the feeling of embarrassment left I felt shocked that my mother had lied to me all these years, how dare she! I got over it, obviously. I’m not traumatized or damaged by Santa.

Why am I so bothered by lying to my kids about it? Santa is meant to make Christmas extra fun. I can’t tell you why it bothers me so much. I know I look into their perfect sparkling eyes when they ask me questions that make them doubt Santa and I’m just crushed. They wholeheartedly believe Mummy would never lie about how Santa is everywhere at once.

But I would lie. I do lie. Every bloody Christmas I bullshit about how Santa manages to do all the magical things he does. Then there’s my son, who never accepted Santa. His monochrome mind only sees things two ways. Right or Wrong – There isn’t any magical in between.

Every year I have to clench my face and look pissed off Donald Trump when he starts to announce something anti-Santa. NO, NO, No…Your wrong…Your wrong…your absolutely…WRONG.


He is right, Santa doesn’t exist. But he needs to shut up because I’m protecting Christmas. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without Santa….that’s what I try and explain to him. Which is also a lie – because Christmas would still be awesome because we are a family.

Family. Thats all we need. 


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