​A week ago, my ten-year-old asked me about the elf in our home. If you’re not familiar, Elf on the Shelf is sort of a game for kids who believe in the magic of Christmas. You have a little stuffed elf. Every night you move the elf to a new location/position in the house. In the morning, the kids go looking to see where the elf moved in the middle of the night.

Parents who participate in this fall into two categories. There are the overachievers who stage elaborate scenes, like dumping a bunch of flour on the counter and then positioning the elf as if it was doing snow angels. (Spoiler: not me).

Most of us don’t go to extremes, but merely move the elf from a bookshelf to a spot nestled in the tree or peeking out of someone’s stocking. That’s about as elaborate as I get. We also get frustrated with the entire thing, because there are nights we forget to move the elf and it’s just one more thing we have to remember.

I was late to the Elf on the Shelf tradition, but gave in a few years ago. Even though I’m on the slacker end of the spectrum, I like the game. Honestly, I think it’s fun to move the elf around and watch the kids hunt for it the following morning.

(Like many parents, Mike does not share this sentiment… “Do we have to do the damn elf thing again this year?”)

But a week ago, one of my daughter’s friends learned the truth about the elf and spread the word. My daughter came to me, very serious, and asked for the truth.

“Do you really want the truth?” I asked. “Or do you want to believe what you want to believe?”

“Hmm. I don’t know,” she answered, because part of her just wanted to continue to believe.

A few hours later, before bed, she told me that she’d decided – she wanted to know the truth. So I confessed that I move the elf around at night. She cried.

The next morning, she asked about Santa. I chose my words carefully.

“There are a lot of magical things that happen around Christmastime and many people think that’s because of Santa. You get to decide what you believe. But when it comes to the presents in our house – that’s dad and me.”

There weren’t any more tears, but she was downright sad. (This was in contrast to my other daughter, who was excited when she learned the truth two years prior.)

With my youngest, the sadness wasn’t just from learning that elf isn’t magical and that her parents are the ones putting out the gifts in the middle of the night, it was also because she felt like she was the last to know. We’ve all been there and it’s not a great feeling.

We talked about it more on the way to school and I did my best to remind her that, in fact, she’s not the last to know. “Now it’s your job to keep that magic alive for all the younger kids,” I said.

At this, her face brightened a bit. As a fifth grader, she is older than most of the kids at her school. Her newfound knowledge went from depressing information to a responsibility that she takes very seriously.

So this will be our first Christmas with everyone in the know. I still have gifts hidden away that are from Santa, which of course are wrapped in different wrapping paper than the gifts from mom and dad.

And I’ll continue to hide the elf at night, save for the times when my daughter asks to do it. She knows now that the elf isn’t real, but she’s still willing to play the game and now wants the rest of us to have to find the elf in the morning. I’m more than happy to oblige.