... in a young girl's heart. Is it better to teach reality to our children? Or is there room for magic in the world?
-April Daniels Hussar, BettyConfidential.com
The other day, my daughter and her friend sat at my kitchen table eating lunch. Two little 6-year-olds, sunbrowned and messy, fueling up for a long afternoon of dress-up, followed by a trip to the town pool. I was there, but barely. After setting out their lunch (and I might add, squeezing the lemons for their lemonade - can I get some kind of gold star?), I went back to my laptop, which I am pretty sure my daughter thinks is her sibling and main rival for attention. I was tap tap tapping away when a piece of their chatter caught my attention.
"What's that, Olivia," I asked my daughter's friend. "What about fairies and the full moon?"
She regarded me solemnly.
"They come out at the full moon."
"Oh really?" I smiled. "I didn't know that!"
My daughter, Isabella, offered, "Yes, she knows because she left them a present and they left HER one."
Aha. "You mean like the tooth fairy?" I asked, hopefully.
No, apparently not like the tooth fairy. The tooth fairy comes for teeth (I picture her with a knife in her boot and a thick money clip, Tony Soprano style), but regular fairies, it seems, come to Olivia's house oh just ANY OLD TIME. And LEAVE PRESENTS.
Uh oh.
Houston, we have a problem. Later that day, I grilled my friend, Olivia's mom. Yes, it was true ... Olivia, being a very bright and enterprising little girl, figured if she placed a tooth in her tooth fairy pillow and received a gift of money, why not try it out another night? After all, teeth only fall out every so often. They're hard to rush. And, it seems, Olivia's daddy, a fun-loving and energetic daddy, seeing as how it was near the full moon, made a quick call to some local fairies and ... poof! A whole new level of middle-of-the-night fairying was invented.
Did he not understand the repercussions of his actions?
As I regarded the gleam in my little girl's eye, I did.
I should explain that I already inadvertently invented my own Surplus Fairy Tradition several years ago, when Isabella woke up on her 3rd birthday and the BIRTHDAY FAIRIES HAD COME IN THE NIGHT! There were flowers, there were balloons and streamers, there was a special decorated chair for the birthday princess! There was also a mostly stay-at-home mom with plenty of time on her hands. Now, although a certain mommy works full time and barely has time to rustle up clean undies for her family, the birthday fairy is not optional ... the other moms at my daughter's school don't like me to talk about it.
Discussions of fairies at lunch quickly melted away into the hot summer afternoon, but a couple of days later, yesterday in fact, Isabella wandered into my home office after visiting her daddy in his home office, across the hall. (It's all very postmodern, I know.)
"I'm going to do an experiment," she informed me.
"Oh really?"
She held a folder I had let her draw on earlier in the day (there are no sacred office supplies). It read: "MY NAME IS ISABELLA WHAT IS YOURS?"
Uh oh.
Later yesterday evening, on our way to go pick up Isabella from yet another playdate (summer is tough for kids, hmm?), I asked my husband about his conversation with our daughter, now armed with a note for the fairies and clearly expecting a response. He told me he explained to her that you can't just take people's words for everything, that you have to experiment and question and see things for yourself.
"But I thought you wanted her to believe in magic," I said, surprised. In fact, this is something we have disagreed over before, because of his insistence on saying "yes" when Isabella asks about magic, and my reluctance.
Well yes, he said, but more the magic of the mind, of imagination, of our abilities to create what we want to create.
"But we ARE the ones who make the magic," I reminded him. "You know that right? I'm the tooth fairy?"
Haha. He was not amused. The rest of the short drive involved discussion of "magic" vs. magic, fear of disillusionment, teaching of critical thinking, and not a few exasperated sighs.
Because, here's the thing. I do want Isabella to believe in magic. I want her childhood to last, and to be filled with wonder for as long as possible - not such an easy task. I watch Olivia and Isabella, their perfect little bodies clad in bathing suits and goggles, run around with such freedom and confidence at the pool, and their sweetness and beauty makes my heart ache, because it feels like all around us are tarnishing, disillusioning forces. The little kindergarten classmate who made fun of Isabella's golden, fuzzy legs; Miley Cyrus in hooker boots in my Elle magazine; TV shows that seem expressly designed to sap all creativity out of the watcher; and don't even get me started on Bratz dolls ...
But I feel bad about magic too. Santa Claus still exists for my little girl, as do the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny. But one day they won't. And neither my husband nor I want that to be a devastating realization. So while I feel guilty about telling bald face lies like OH LOOK! THE REINDEER ATE THE CARROTS WE PUT OUT FOR THEM, I try to mitigate those lies with casual conversation topics like, oh, say, how Santa Claus is really about the spirit of giving.
In the past, my husband has always encouraged Isabella to believe in magic, while I worry, because I know what she means is the kind of magic where you wish on a star and your CRV turns into a golden coach. Anything is possible, my husband teaches her. But, I'm afraid I don't truly believe it is. As my old pal Courtney Love says, "I don't really miss God, but I sure miss Santa Claus."
We got to the playdate's house before we could finish the conversation. Later last night, after a movie, a bath, and several books, I conked out next to Isabella right in her bed. It had been a long day. I felt myself falling asleep, but I was too tired to move. I was also too tired to think any more about the "potion" (consisting of two turquoise marabou feathers, a ribbon, and a rhinestone - perhaps Isabella was expecting the can-can fairies?) I had discovered earlier under Isabella's pillow, or the folder at the foot of the bed, waiting with a small green glitter pen. As I drifted off, I thought, well, maybe it's time ... maybe my husband is right, and this will teach critical thinking. Maybe we can teach her about repeating the experiment and comparing results. Maybe ... Zzzzzz.
But at some point, in the middle of the night, I half woke up ... just enough to be aware of a man stealing into my daughter's room. He didn't disturb me. He just leaned over and slipped something under her pillow. I fell back asleep, magic in my heart.
Isabella is still asleep as I write this. But I know when she wakes up, she will look under her pillow. And she will find magic.
And the folder? There's something inside. A tiny green, glittery heart, encircling the words, "Thank you, Isabella. We love you."
Photo: The fairies still visit Isabella (left) and Oliva (right)
Read more about parenting from BettyConfidential.com:
Your Fear of Flying with My Children and
My Son is Starting Kindergarten, and I'm Not
Sad
