The Magic is Gone

The other day I was driving home with all my kids in the car and my oldest asks, "How come none of the characters at Disneyland are real?".

Whhhhaaaaaat!? My brain did a screeching halt in the middle of our drive.

She's only six. Well, almost seven, but still, she's six! I'm not ready for all this non-magical thinking. Life is so easy when you get to pretend right along with your kids. It has such an innocence and endless possibility feel to it. I want to make her stay in Neverland and never grow up. After all, she is my first baby.

[Insert heavy sigh here.]

"What do you mean they weren't real?" I ask.

"Well they aren't real animals," she responds.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. Notice that I didn't say "how do you know that?" or anything that might insinuate she is correct. You have to be careful about these things when dealing with an astute grade school kid.

"When one of them turned around I saw the zipper on his back," she says.

"Yeah," says my younger daughter. Even though I'm not really sure she knew what her sister was saying, but by this time she really wants to get in on this discussion.

"Hmmmm," I say as I stall. Then I quickly follow it up with "hey, it's David Cook on the radio - listen!" and I turn up the volume to curb any further discussion.

Distraction to the rescue. My props go out to American Idol and it's good, clean fun for kids.

Now a couple days pass by and my husband and I are discussing the Republican Vice President nominee Sarah Palin.

Ugh.

That's as far as I'll go with a political discussion on my blog.

Just the night before we had mentioned something about her 17 year old daughter being pregnant, and my oldest picked up on it. She said "17!!??" and then followed it up with "that seems really young to be having a baby." Yes, little wise one, you are correct.

So here we are again the next morning discussing the latest news in front of her. Big mistake.

"So she's not married?" she asks.

"No, she's getting married soon," I say. Now I'm really hoping our discussion ends here.

But, alas, my wish is not fulfilled.

"So how do you get pregnant anyway?" she asks.

Oh the dread. The fear. The anxiety. Gulp.

My husband makes a loud coughing noise and proceeds to bury his nose back in the newspaper. Thanks for the support honey.

"We'll talk about that when you get older," I say. Then I quickly follow it up with "so what do you want in your lunch today?" and I rattle off a list of possibilities so long that the thought of pregnancy and its whereabouts can only be left behind in the crannies of her mind.

Distraction strikes again.

I don't know how long I can keep this up.

I'm sure the jolly old man in the red suit and the fairy that delivers money under your pillow are on the short list for upcoming inquisitions.

Time for a little parental preparation. There's only so long she'll buy this distraction crap.