The jig is up.

It's the end of an era. Today, Rachel figured out the truth about St. Nicholas and/or Santa. To be fair, she's been suspicious for a year or so but after this morning, she is no longer on the fence.

Back story: We have never lied to our kids about the existence of Santa and St. Nicholas. We told them that Santa was actually created from a real person and we've told them who St. Nicholas was and every time they ask about Santas they see around, we always tell them it is a person in a costume. Still, they wanted to believe in the magic and we just decided to let it runs its course. It's so fun to see their eyes light up, to listen to the stories they create and let their imaginations run wild. Plus who wants to be the one to tell a little kid that their fantasy isn't real? So we just let it last as long as it could.

Anyway, St. Nicholas brought all of my children socks on his feast a couple of days ago. They were pretty over the moon about these new socks - you would have thought we lived in poverty and my kids don't get their basic needs met, because on the morning of St. Nicholas Day, there were cries of "yeah socks! I have been wanting these for so long! I can't wait to try them on!"

I have a feeling we won't be able to ride that gravy train for too many more years before we start hearing "seriously? socks?" But for now, we're living it up and letting them believe that socks are the kind of thing you ask for for Christmas.

Well, this morning, Jonah was wearing his prized new socks and wanted to go out and get the paper.

"Put on your shoes," Gary said. "I don't want you to ruin those new socks I...." trailed off into silence.

Jonah didn't notice, but Rachel looked up from her toast.

"What?!" she said. "I knew it!"

Gary tried to change the subject. "You see this awesome hotel in this magazine Rachel? Can believe how enormous it is?"

Rachel looked at me and rolled her eyes. "He's trying to change the subject, but it's not going to work. I know. Did you hear that Dad?"

"I'm ignoring you," Gary said from behind his magazine.

"Doesn't matter, I figured it out," she said and smugly finished her toast. "Pass the comics please."

She has no idea of the enormity of the moment for me. But I guess eight years was a pretty good run for Old St. Nick.

Rachel, Christmas 2005. Eleven months old.