MJ and I turned on a Playhouse Disney holiday special last week called "Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas." It seemed harmless enough -- after all, what could be wrong about an animated mouse? But one of the stories in the program involves skepticism about Santa Claus, which seems like a silly idea to introduce to preschoolers, who are Santa's biggest-believing demographic. Sure, all's well that ends well, because Santa ultimately turns out to be real. But I still feel like children's television executives should be required to flash some sort of notice to parents before the show begins: "WARNING: This program contains elements of adult cynicism and may require some explaining to your child upon completion."

Parents are caretakers of the belief in Santa, a carefully cultivated childhood romance that, at least in our house, is reinforced and monitored at every turn. If I could feed my little people the Santa philosophy in their food and drink, I'd do just that. I want my kids to believe in Jolly Old St. Nick's imagination magic for as long as they can -- or for as long as their friends at school will let them.

When my older sister was going into fifth grade -- at a time when kids these days are just wrapping up their interest in all-things High School Musical and moving on to Twilight -- she came into the house in a huff.

She went up to our mother, visibly upset, and said, "Mom, Jennifer told me that there isn't a Santa Claus. That it's your parents. Now tell me the truth. Is Santa Claus real?"

"You want the truth, do you?" my mom asked.

"Yes," my sister confirmed.

"Well," Mom told her, "that's the truth. But there is a Santa Claus, because Dad and I are your Santa Claus."

"Oh rats," my sister said, walking back outside to play in the summer sunshine. "I wish you hadn't told me."

She may have lost a dream that day, but she went on to become one of the greatest protectors of childhood ideals known to man -- or, at least, to her little sister. She once threw jingle bells outside our bedroom window on Christmas Eve and told me it was Rudolph coming in for a landing. In fact, when I called her to ask her permission to write about her for this post, she was on her way to the dentist to have a crown put in. I told her to think of Santa while she was braving the drill, and she said that was a pretty good idea. She might even throw in visions of the Easter Bunny, too.

I don't think I believed quite as long as my sister did -- a hazard of being the second-born -- but I wanted to, long after I knew The Truth. I loved the trouble my parents undertook to make the big jolly guy real, and the cute way Santa signed his packages to me in Dad's handwriting. A big part of me went on pretending because I truly thought it would make my parents feel blue if I didn't -- which, frankly, says a lot about the power of the North Pole's most famous resident.

But I still wholeheartedly believe in the Santa ideal. My dad still labels a few presents to each of us, "From Santa." The first year I was married, I didn't know what to do with myself on Christmas Eve. For the first time in my life, I didn't have a Santa note to write or cookies to set out -- which I always did, even in high school and when home on break from college and grad school. And my dad always obliged, turning the note over and replying, "Burp! Love, Santa," in that familiar handwriting. It was an endearing family tradition, a reminder that no one is too old to believe.

I hope it's a long time before my kids discover The Truth. I wasn't sure if MJ wondered about Santa's existence after watching that Mickey special, but I soon got my answer. As she waited in line to talk to Santa over Thanksgiving, she wore that sweet shy-happy smile of wonder that only a kid can, the same one my then-three-year-old niece wore the year my dad dressed up as Santa. It's the look that says: The world is a wonderful place, and I'm so lucky to be a kid in it. Or maybe it says: Are you going to bring me a robot, or what? Either way, it is, as the song says, the best time of the year.

Beth appears Tuesdays on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Beth at her blog MotherBunker.