I was alone in my bedroom. It was Friday night, the time when my husband and I schedule our weekly at-home date night. He’ll pick up takeout and we’ll spread out a blanket on our bed and watch some Netflix while we eat. He was already on his way to pick up a chicken sandwich we’d share, along with some chips and queso. My boys were in the next room, reading. I usually take the time alone to write a little.
This particular night I was in the middle of what I think was a profound thought—and the door flew open. My three-year-old was there, smiling at me, effectively ejecting me from my profound thought and planting me right back in the real world.
“I want to have you,” he said.
I felt a little annoyed, but I smiled and patted the spot next to me on the bed. He climbed up and showed me the Stitch stuffed animal (from Lilo and Stitch) he had brought with him. Stitch is attached to a slap bracelet that I’m surprised still works in this house of destructive boys.
My son bounded off the bed after a few minutes, climbed into the wing chair where I normally write, and used Stitch to turn off the light.
“Did you see that, Mama?” he said. “Stitch turned the light off with his tail!” His blue eyes sparkled with a delighted gleam, and I could see his tongue smashed between his teeth.
My writing was forgotten. I had to bask in his joy, his smile, his pleasure at having turned off the light with Stitch’s tail.
He climbed back down from the chair, launched at me for a kiss, and scrambled toward the door.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too, Mama,” he said as he bounded out of the room, Stitch flying in parabolas beside him.
Magic is everywhere.
I’m glad I had my eyes open to see it.
(Photo by This is Now Photography.)
