I’ll never forget the day that magic came into my life. REAL magic—the kind that fills kids with wonder for years to come. Not the Santa Claus or Easter Bunny kind, and definitely not like the quirky uncle who can detach his thumb. This magic is genuine and special; it only grows more enchanting over time.
It was a winter day in New York City, just before Christmas, and the holiday spirit was decidedly absent. My son, at the age of three, perched himself on a dining room chair, gazing out of the window on a dreary, overcast day. The forecast predicted rain, and with the unusually warm weather, snow was nowhere in sight. I had all but given up hope.
Living on a busy avenue, we often played a game where I’d ask him to identify the colors of cars and trucks, count the vehicles at the stoplight, and giggle at the drivers arguing in the chaos of rush hour. But today, he was silent, staring up at the sky, waiting.
“What are you looking for, my little buddy?” I asked, noticing the drool trickling down his chin.
“I’m waiting for sthnow!” he replied, lisping slightly.
He resembled a chubby little bunny in his bright yellow footie pajamas, eyes wide with expectation, as he intently watched the iron-grey sky as if waiting for a shower of candies.
Now, I knew for certain that snow wasn’t in the forecast. But as a mom, I felt his disappointment like a weight on my heart. No child should face disappointment, especially not so close to Christmas.
“I don’t think it’s going to snow today, buddy,” I gently told him.
Explaining El Niño to a three-year-old was not an option, so I did what any sensible parent would do. I made a promise.
“If I promise you it will snow soon, will you come away from the window?”
“You promisth to make it sthnow, Mom?” he replied, his eyes lighting up.
“Yes, I promise, but only if you promise to join me in the living room.”
“Okay! Do it now!” he insisted, as only a three-year-old can.
So, I reached into my pocket and found…nothing! I discreetly cupped my hand to hide my empty palm, rubbed it together, kissed it, and then blew toward the window, sending my imaginary magic into the sky.
“What wasth that!” he squealed, bouncing with excitement.
“Ah! That, my dear Sir Giggles, was Mommy Magic! And with this Mommy Magic, it will snow. Real soon,” I said with a wink.
We stepped away from the window, and I settled in to watch my evening show. Just ten minutes later, my son was back at the window, jumping and shouting, “It’s sthnowing! It’s STHNOWING!!!”
At that moment, I couldn’t help but think someone had spiked his juice! But when I looked outside, I couldn’t believe my eyes—flakes fluttered down, transforming the gray streets into a winter wonderland.
“Mommy Magic worked!!” he cheered, and we both stood in awe as the world outside quieted under a delicate blanket of snow.
From that day forward, whenever he faced a scraped knee or a minor injury during his daring feats (including jumping off the dining room chairs like a mini stuntman), all I had to do was pull out the Mommy Magic, and his tears would vanish.
Fortunately, he never expected me to conjure more snow or make rain disappear, although I wished I could perfect that trick. Once was enough for him to believe in the magic of possibilities, as long as you hold onto that belief.
I still don’t know why it snowed that day. Even the weather forecasters were baffled that evening. Perhaps it was a combination of my Mommy Magic and the pure wonder that resides in a child’s heart.
Fast forward to tonight: my son, now twelve, returned from basketball practice with a nasty bruise on his knee. As I tucked him in, he mentioned his rough day on the court and asked if I could rub some Mommy Magic on his knee to help him play better tomorrow. I didn’t think he still believed in that, but I humored him and obliged. We shared a laugh, and although the bruise looked painful, I’ll do anything to ease his discomfort.
If he still believes in Mommy Magic, it means something important: even if I sometimes doubt myself, he believes in me.
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