A little bit of magic

According to my son, I am magical. I am able to perform impossible feats with the wink of an eye and a nod of the head. I'm like a genie, a superhero, and God all rolled into one. Don't I wish that were true, especially on those days when he won't nap or goes boneless when I try to remove his tantruming little self from the middle of the aisle at Target only to be kicked in the face by a miniature Croc. 

Yet no matter how many miracles I fail to perform, Josh continues to request them. And he is genuinely disappointed (and sometimes downright angry) when I cannot perform them. Take snacks, for instance. I'll pick him up from preschool bearing a treasured fruit bar he couldn't get enough of last week only to find that he wants almonds. When I break the news that I don't have any almonds, he demands them louder. I try to be a good mom and ignore the outburst — starve it of attention. So I start driving. This only angers him more, and he starts demanding that I pull over and give him some nuts. So I calmly try to explain to him that I am good at many things, but I do not possess the necessary skills to pull food out of thin air. We eventually work it out, without the expected miracle, but that doesn't stop him from asking me to change the weather when he wants to go outside and it's raining or to instantly heal his cut finger. 

As I have learned how to mother, I have discovered that I actually am magical, just not in the ways Josh wants me to be. I can carry 15-20 separate items, large or small, AND my 30-pound son through shopping malls, across parking lots, and down stairs with only my two arms and ten fingers. I often laugh when grocery store clerks ask if I need help out to the car with my small two bags. 

I can also do several things at once, even things that are seemingly unrelated. Since Josh arrived, I have become an extreme multitasker, working on six or eight tasks at once when a few short years ago I could accomplish only two or three. I can often cook dinner while simultaneously soothing the grumpy preschooler wrapped around my legs, answering the phone, setting the table, checking e-mail, and cutting my toenails. It's not my preferred mode of operation, but it has become a necessary survival skill in my world. (And when I fall into bed in an exhausted heap at night, I no longer wonder why I'm so tired.) 

And I can often still outsmart Josh into doing what I need him to do. It takes more and more brain power these days, but I continue to amaze myself with my ability to sidetrack, redirect, and motivate a very stubborn and very smart three year old. That's magic in my book. 

Now if I could just find the spell that keeps Josh my sweet baby boy forever, that would truly be magical.