A new post is long overdue. And it’s not like nothing ever happens that is write-worthy. It’s really more about me not being able to write what’s going on, because in truth, so much is going on I don’t know where to begin. And truthfully, I don’t know if a blog is even a place I want to begin to unpack everything that’s on my mind. I’m not exactly a bleeding blogger–not yet anyway, but give me some time.
So while many things can’t be articulated right now, I can always talk about my kids. They are a never-ending source of insight and humor in my life. As such, I thought I would share what my son told me last night because it something I’m going to write down in the journal I keep for him. It’s just that precious.
I once believed in magic–or something like that. Like the wardrobe in Narnia kind of stuff. I suspect that most of us did in some way or another if we had any imagination or wonder about us at all. Things that our young minds could find no explanation for that could be filed in our “magical” category. If you didn’t have this category as a child, I’m sorry. Really, truly, sorry. Believing in some sort of magic or fantasy is part of the joy of childhood. At least that’s how it was for me and still is for my kids.
So last night. I tucked in my younger two and let the older one stay up and read his Hardy Boys book. He’s at that brilliant age where we can sit side-by-side reading our own books and this counts as quality time. I love this. Anyway, he put his book down and looked at me seriously.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Something’s up with me.”
Oh no. My mind raced with thoughts and fears that something very traumatic has happened to my child and our lives are about to change forever. I guess you can tell I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of gal. Anyway.
“What’s up?” I try to ask casually and hold my breath.
He stood up, still looking serious. “Even though I’ve had no training at all, I am really good at climbing (he is a monkey) and I can do this.” At which point he proceeds to put his hands on the bed and jump up, twisting his legs in some quasi-Jedi-like move. His face is sincere. I want to chuckle a little because it’s so endearing. But I don’t dare. It would be devastating.
“Yeah, that’s impressive. So why do you think you can do this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting super powers.” He wants this to be true, I can tell. I nod in recognition. Perhaps he’s seen a little too much of the Avengers lately? Perhaps.
The following morning he and the Hubs have a similar conversation in the car. He confesses that he thinks he’s turning into a super-hero, but hopes he’ll be part Thor (he loves the hair and he is 1/8th Norwegian after all) and part Iron Man. This explains why he’s been asking me if he’s more like Iron Man or Thor lately.
Maybe we’re bad parents for letting him believe that magical, unexplainable things can happen to him. But I don’t think so. I once believed that the New Kids on the Block tour bus was going to drive down my rural Georgia road and break down right in front of my house and Joey would instantly fall in love with me. I believed that and a million other crazy things with all my heart. It didn’t crush me or scar me for life when it didn’t happen– or maybe it did and I’m blocking that out.
I think that sometimes we need to believe in a little magic, mystery and the possibility that extraordinary things really do happen in everyday life. I do.
And honestly there is still that part of me that believes that the seemingly impossible is, well, possible. So I love that he has a huge imagination, unless he actually is morphing into Thor right before our eyes. Which would be amazing. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.