I’m dashing off to Target this morning. Last minute Santa shopping. And the fourth night of Hanukkah.

Being a non-observant Jew married to a fallen Catholic is exhausting. And expensive.

That’s not to say we’re ignoring the real reason for the season — we’ve had great times with family and friends and it’s not even Christmas Eve. But of course gifts are a part of it.

The first night of Hanukkah, I got cocky. (Always dangerous — pride before a fall, that kind of thing.) We gave Annabelle an item from the top of her list, a “vintage” (read: crappy old) typewriter found at a flea market for 20 bucks.

Sophie got a three-pack of Olivia the Pig panties.

I’ve got the only kid in the universe thrilled to receive underwear for a holiday gift. So thrilled she stopped several times that night to hug me and say, “Thank you for making my wish come true!”

So yeah, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Till I woke up the next morning and realized that — for the first time, ever — I’d fallen asleep without tending to tooth fairy duties. Annabelle had lost one that afternoon and frankly, the whole thing got lost in the shuffle of the last day of school before break and the first night of Hanukkah.

So shoot me.

I think she wanted to. Annabelle still talks about the tooth fairy and all that, but I got an extra dirty look when she asked me if I had any suggestions as to what had happened to Tabitha Fairchild (note to self: if you are going to concoct an elaborate tooth fairy scheme, make sure you follow through each and every time).

For the record, Tabitha came the following night, full of silver dollars and a letter bearing explanations as to what had happened (she didn’t recognize Annabelle’s note — she’d typed it on her new typewriter and Tabitha was looking for Annabelle’s handwriting).

“Not very magical, huh?” one of my cousins commented last night at dinner when I told the story.

No, not very magical. It was the best I could do. No, I told the table, I don’t think Annabelle really believes anymore. She’s on the cusp of 10 and a half. She’s an aetheist, for Christ’s sake. But she hasn’t given up on the TF and Santa completely.

“She’s sort of in belief purgatory, I think,” I told them.

So I’m off to a different kind of purgatory — Target two days before Christmas.

And then, damnit, I’m going to get a pedicure. By myself.