The Keeper of all things Magical

All Moms and Dads know there is no manual for raising kids. There is no magic wand to erase the mistakes and mishaps that happen along the way. Sometimes we get it right, sometimes we get it wrong.

I don't remember being 5, 9 or 12. I remember snapshots of my life, moments, stories, or feelings about a special time. I remember Magic. I remember Santa and Fairies. I remember floating in water and being bored on car trips. I remember camp and building forts.

I DON'T remember fighting, crying or raging. I don't remember falling out of bed or hitting my siblings. I am certain these things happened, as they happen to everyone. I am sure that my brother and sister can recall a story or too from our childhood that makes me look like a monster. I can say with certainty that there is a grey hair on my Mother's head for every time I told a lie, snuck out or told her I hated her.

The fact that I don't remember with clarity these things gives me hope. Hope that when my children are older they wont remember that we fight, and yell and argue. Hope, that they will grow to love each other (rather than antagonize each other at every chance).

Hope that when they have their own children they will tell stories about the good times. That they will regale them with tales of trips to the beach, that time I snorted up spaghetti, or getting pulled around town in a sled after a HUGE snowstorm.

I hope that they remember all the magic of Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Leprechaun. I hope they laugh when they think of the silly left-handed notes left by said mythical creatures. I hope they carry on the tradition of trickery, and someday, at 2:30 in the morning as they are trying to sneak a dollar under a sleeping child's head they think of me, and smile.