I will always remember the day true magic entered our lives—the kind that ignites curiosity and wonder in children. Not the fleeting magic of Santa Claus or whimsical characters, but a lasting enchantment that grows more profound over time.
It was winter in New York City, just before Christmas, and the atmosphere felt anything but festive. My son, who was only three years old, sat in the window on an overcast day. The weather forecast predicted rain, and with the unusually warm temperatures, snow seemed like a distant dream. I had resigned to the idea that it wouldn’t happen.
Our home is located on a busy avenue, notorious for its traffic jams. We often played a game where I would ask him to identify the colors of passing vehicles, count the cars at the traffic light, and giggle at the antics of frustrated drivers. However, on this day, he wasn’t in the mood for games. He simply gazed up at the sky, waiting.
“What are you looking for, buddy?” I asked, curious.
“I’m waiting for sthnow!” he replied, his lisp adding a touch of sweetness to his words. He resembled a chubby little rabbit in his bright yellow pajamas, his rosy cheeks and big brown eyes fixed on the grey sky, as if expecting candy to fall from the heavens.
Despite my knowledge that snow was not in the forecast, I felt a pang of sadness for him. As a parent, you never want your child to be disappointed, especially during the holiday season. He remained glued to the window, hoping for a winter wonderland.
“I don’t think it’s going to snow today,” I gently explained.
After considering the futility of explaining weather patterns to a toddler, I resorted to a common parental strategy—I made a promise. “If I promise you it will snow soon, will you come play in the living room with me?”
“Do you promisth to make it sthnow, Mom?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, I promise, if you promise to join me,” I replied.
“Okay! Do it now!” he insisted, his youthful enthusiasm palpable.
So, in a moment of creativity, I reached into my pocket and pretended to pull something out. I cupped my hands to hide the nothingness and rubbed them together, then kissed my hands before blowing the imaginary magic toward the window.
“What wasth that! What wasth that!” he exclaimed, bouncing with excitement.
“That, Sir Giggles… was Mommy Magic! And with it, it will snow very soon,” I declared dramatically.
We wandered away from the window, and I settled in to watch my evening program. A mere ten minutes later, I heard him shrieking and pointing back at the window. I thought, “Did I miss a car accident?”
“It’s sthnowing! It’s STHNOWING!” he shouted, elated.
Despite my initial skepticism, when I looked outside, there it was—snowflakes gently cascading down, blanketing the city in white. Together we marveled at the scene, the noise of the city hushed by the snowfall.
From then on, whenever he sustained an injury—be it from his adventurous leaps off dining chairs or other childhood escapades—he simply asked for Mommy Magic, and with a sprinkle of imagination, his tears vanished.
Fortunately, he never sought further snow or rain prevention, as one instance of magic was sufficient for him to believe in its existence. To this day, I still question whether the snowfall was a coincidence or if it was the magic that resides in a child’s heart.
Fast forward to tonight, my now twelve-year-old son returned home with a bruise from basketball practice. As I tucked him in, he recounted his difficult day on the court and asked me to apply some “Mommy Magic” to his injury. I was surprised that he still held on to that belief, so I indulged him. We laughed together, and although the bruise looked painful, I would do anything to ease his discomfort.
His belief in Mommy Magic is a reminder that no matter the challenges I face, there is someone who still believes in me.
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In summary, the magic that comes from a parent’s love and creativity can create unforgettable moments for children, fostering belief in the extraordinary even as they grow older.