I was tired, the result of an activity-filled weekend. I was ready to punch my mom timecard for the day but quickly sensed this was not one of her usual bedtime stall tactics.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Climbing to the foot of her bed, she sat cross-legged, her posture straight and alert. Her eyes sparkled, as if little fireworks were bursting just behind her retina, and the corners of her mouth turned up in an excited grin weighted only by a hint of nervousness. She took a deep breath, then said:
“Mom, is Santa Claus real?”