So our Ostara was a bit different this year... It all started when the little witch, the night before the sabbat, a few minutes before sleeping, while watching his decorated altar, told me that he knew it was me who bought the traditional Kinder Eggs to put at his altar.
Some input is needed here: it may sound weird that my 9 years old son still believe in Santa, Easter and Ostara bunny and tooth fairy, but that how we raise kids in our family. As long as we can, we keep the fantasy going. At Christmas, all the kids stay in my mom's bedroom while the adults arrange the presents under the Tree in the living room, and my brother goes "ho ho ho"to let them know it's time to come out and see what the good Santa left for them. At Easter, Lucas prepares a little nest where the Bunny can place all the chocolate eggs he gets from his mom, grandma, aunts and uncles, and this bunny-witch who types leave little flour paws on the floor. When a baby tooth falls out, his tooth holder keeps it safe under his pillow so the tooth fairy can trade it for a R$ 1 coin. The same thing with Ostara. Every year, we decorate our altars, and on the little witch's, we place the old, lovely egg holders from the Pooka pages I printed and we colored many years ago. He always gets three Kinder eggs and looks forward to them.
Back to Ostara night. It totally took me by surprise, even knowing that at 9, it wouldn't last long. I went to his bed and started explaining to him that I was the one who bought the chocolate eggs, but all the moms in the world have this mission, to keep the fantasy and the gods alive in their kids' hearts, and that we were their messengers. This way we would keep the meaning of sharing this lovely tradition alive. But, of course, when I started talking, I burst into tears. And of course, typically in the spirit of a good dramatic Brazilian soap opera, Lucas started crying too because he didn't want me to be sad. He said he wasn't upset, and that he still loved and believed in the myth. We stayed there for some minutes, hugging and wipping each other's tears and making jokes about it, and all was well again.
Why did I cry? Because this is the end of a beautiful phase in his life. There are many other beautiful, challenging phases ahead, but this one, of innocently believing in a lovely fantasy, is over. This definitely marks his new stage, more than the number of his shirt or shoes. It was his first real growing up moment. I remembered all these years behind, when he would be marveled at the sight of bunny paws on the floor and on the window, and the chocolate eggs carefully placed at his altar, and I know things will be different now - not bad, but different. He's still a kid, who loves to play Dragon Ball and Harry Potter fights with his friends at school recess time, and loves to play hide-and-seek with me at home, and play peteca, and draw monsters and pirate ships, and to ask me to make felt dolls out of the drawings he creates. He watches Cartoon and Disney XD now, but still watches Backyardigans, sometimes. He still loves Cebolinha comics, and loves to pretend to be a robot.
But he's definitely growing up. And I'm happy for him, of course. I can't wait to see what kind of man he will be in the future, and I'm thrilled to be able to raise him to be a nice, well adjusted and happy human being, helping him to have long, strong wings to fly high. But sometimes I just wished that the clock could gently slow down its pace. But, then again, it's wonderful to watch my lovely little witch growing up into such a cool way. Maybe I just need an extra heart.