I will always remember the day genuine magic arrived in our home. This was not the kind of magic associated with Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, but a profound wonder that lingers in a child’s heart. It’s a special kind of magic that grows more magnificent over time.
My son, Oliver, was just three years old during a particularly unremarkable winter in New York City, right around Christmas. The weather felt anything but festive; an overcast sky loomed as he sat by the window, peering out. With the warm temperatures and rain forecasted, snow seemed like a distant dream—one I had no reason to believe would come true.
Living on a busy avenue, we often played a game where we identified the colors of cars and counted those stuck at traffic lights. However, that day, Oliver was disinterested in our usual fun. He simply gazed upwards.
“What are you looking at, buddy?” I asked him.
“I’m looking out da window!” he replied, a bit of drool escaping his lips.
“I can see that, but what are you hoping to see? A plane?” I inquired, glancing up as well.
“I’m waiting for sthnow!” he said, his lisp endearing and sweet.
He looked like a chubby little rabbit in his bright yellow pajamas, his big brown eyes wide with anticipation. Despite knowing the forecast had no snow in sight, my heart ached for him, not wanting to see him disappointed, especially so close to Christmas.
“I don’t think it’s going to snow today, Oliver,” I gently told him. Explaining El Niño to a three-year-old didn’t seem practical, so I opted for a different approach.
“If I promise that it will snow soon, will you come play in the living room with me?”
“You promisth to make it sthnow, Mom?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes, I promise, but only if you promise to come away from the window,” I replied.
“Okay! Do it now!” he insisted, as only a child could.
I reached into my pocket, finding nothing. I cupped my hands as if holding something magical, and with a kiss and a gentle blow toward the window, I declared, “That, my dear Oliver, was Mommy Magic, and it will snow very soon.”
“What wasth that! What wasth that!” he shouted, jumping up and down with excitement.
Before long, he dashed back to the window, exclaiming, “It’s sthnowing! It’s STHNOWING!!!”
To my astonishment, snowflakes began to fall, transforming the city into a winter wonderland. We watched in awe as the snow blanketed the streets, softening the usual noise of the bustling city.
From that day forward, whenever he encountered bumps and bruises from his adventurous antics around the house, all it took was a sprinkle of “Mommy Magic” to soothe his tears. Thankfully, he never asked me to replicate that snowy day or perform any other weather-related miracles, as once was enough to instill in him the belief that magic exists for those who believe.
Fast forward to today, Oliver is twelve and still seeks comfort in the idea of “Mommy Magic.” After returning home with a nasty bruise from basketball practice, he asked me to apply some magic to his knee for luck in his next game. I indulged him, laughing as I rubbed his knee and felt a rush of warmth. Even if he no longer fully believes in the magic, his faith in me is a treasure that remains.
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In summary, the magic of motherhood is not just a fleeting moment; it becomes an everlasting bond that nurtures the belief in wonder and comfort throughout a child’s life.
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