Eight year-old Eric recently laid a trap for me. In a too-casual voice he remarked that his friend Alex didn't believe in the tooth fairy, and that Alex's dad was the one who took the teeth and left money under the pillow, and what did I think of that? I told him that I thought Alex's dad must know that the tooth fairy won't visit unbelievers, and that he must feel so sorry for his son that he tries in his own pitiful way to make up for the tooth fairy's failure to appear. Eric mulled that over for a bit then inquired as to whether or not the same logic applied to Santa and the Easter Bunny. Of course it does, I answered. All of them, the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny all depend on the faith of children to work their special magic. They can't afford to waste time on kids who don't believe, sad as that may be. Those unbelievers are at the mercy of their parents, and it's a good thing that parents love their kids so much else there'd be precious little to do on Christmas morning at many houses. This answer seemed to satisfy him, especially when I reminded him those grownups that believe in Santa, like his mom, and me still get gifts. I was in the process of explaining why the tooth fairy doesn't come to grownups that lose their teeth in fights when my husband began laughing and choking on his dinner. At that point I remembered that my colorful roots were showing and that getting one's teeth knocked out in a brawl isn't part of Eric's reality. People who don't floss, I corrected myself, lose their teeth and the tooth fairy doesn't come and you know why? Because they don't believe in her, and her budget's too tight to put money under just anyone's pillow. He bought it, but it was a close call, and a reminder that he won't be a little boy for much longer.

Our latest visit from the tooth fairy came as a bit of a surprise. Since Eric typically likes to 're so loose that a light sneeze could knock them out, we weren't prepared for him to open a grimy paw to reveal a bloody front tooth sitting on his palm. He trotted off to hide the tooth under his pillow, and we checked our wallets to make sure that we could cover the fairy's visit. That night, we stumbled into bed late, exhausted from an extra-long bout of fussing on the baby's part. Mark never woke up to take care of the tooth. The next morning he came in a panic into the room where Bob and I were doing the radio show. We couldn't let Eric wake up and find his tooth still under his pillow. Luckily, he was still sleeping, so we had a chance, a small one, to sneak in and swap the tooth for cash. We hatched a plan. I would go in, wake Eric up and make him go to the bathroom. Since I did this most mornings anyway, the kid's suspicions wouldn't be aroused. While Eric was out of his room, Mark would creep in and make the switch. I waited outside the bathroom door, then walked Eric back to bed and tucked him in. There was no sign of Mark, so thinking that the deal was done, I walked out of the bedroom and closed the door behind me. Unbeknownst to me, Mark had ducked into Eric's closet when he heard us returning from the bathroom. When I closed the bedroom door, I trapped him in the room. I went back to my little home studio, put my headphones on, and merrily returned to work. Half an hour later, Mark was hissing in my face how I'd locked him in the closet. He'd been forced to stand there motionless, listening to Eric toss and turn and scratch his mosquito bites, which are many and practically gangrenous since he won't leave them alone, all the while trying to plot his escape -- or explain his presence in a dark closet. Whichever came first. He finally managed to creep out undetected, at which point I was made to endure some irate ranting and raving about what a lousy spy I'd make and other assorted complaints along those lines. Whatever. At least we managed to keep the tooth fairy alive for a little longer.

If you're lucky, your kids will just naturally arrive at an age where they begin to suspect that Santa might be a myth. Most kids have a little help putting two and two together, whether from an older sibling or from some wise-beyond-his-years neighborhood punk who can't wait to break the big news that Mom and Dad are the real North Pole. There's a moment as a kid, when, on the brink of discovering the truth, you feel powerful and triumphant, a baby no more. But then, immediately after getting the confirmation -- yes, you're right, it's been us all along, but please don't ruin it for your little sister, okay? -- a hollow disappointment, a kind of wordless sorrow sets in. No matter how grown up we think we are, it hurts to discover that there's far less magic in the world than we believed. The loss of belief is bad news for parents too. Santa has always been a powerful incentive for good behavior; take away the jolly old elf and moms and dads are woefully alone in the wilderness of discipline. But there's a heavier price to be paid by parents when their children outgrow childish beliefs, one much harder to bear. When we stop believing in magic and eventually shoulder the burdens of adulthood we become a little cynical, a little weary. But then we have children of our own and the magic is returned to us, only this time it's richer and more sparkling, because we help create it. So when the day arrives that our kids tell us that there's no such thing as Santa, or the tooth fairy, or the Easter Bunny, the child who lives inside each of us dies a second death. That's why we drag our kids to crowded shopping malls every December to sit on the red velvet-costumed laps of complete strangers. It's why we creep into darkened bedrooms with crisp dollar bills, holding our breath as we fish about under pillows, why we carefully nestle dyed eggs into sofa cushions and shrubberies. It's because we remember a world where any kind of wonder was possible, and we long to return there, even if only for a moment, and only through our children's eyes. We know that making magic is much more fun than mourning its loss. Hold onto belief for as long as you can. And leave the window open just a crack -- the tooth fairy will thank you.