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They insisted Santa was real, which is something they still do to this day. While Christmas wasn't the same for me after that year (I was 13, which is probably an embarrassing age to stop believing in Santa but just shows how much my mom wanted to keep it special), I realized that the magic didn't really have to go away.I knew Santa wasn't real, my parents knew that I knew, but I also realized that the "magic" I cherished as a child had more to do with the traditions we did as a family than Santa himself.Unlike so many kids who hear the cold and harsh truth from a neighborhood bully, nobody ever told me that the big guy from the North Pole was actually my parents.Sure, I heard rumors, and my friends and I would talk about it at our lunch table.

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They found that names with negative connotations, such as "Little" or "Bugg", are often linked with inferiority, while light-hearted screen names, like Fun2bwith, are more likely to result in a date.

Then my mom accidentally said, "I'm so glad you love it!

It took me forever to find that." My face (and my heart) immediately fell.

My sister and I would write Santa a letter every Christmas Eve, my mom would put out some of her famous sugar cookies, and we would look out the window for any signs of a sleigh flashing across the moon.

While we don't do the letter or intense Santa-watch anymore, cookies are still left out, we track ol' Saint Nick online, and half of our presents are still labeled "From, Santa." As we've gotten older, my mom has even come up with new ideas to keep Santa alive, because she can truly never reach her cap on filling our lives with magic. I recently asked my mom why it's been so important to her to keep Christmas so innocent and wonderful, and what she told me is something I will cherish forever.

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