Some Kind of Magic

My kids make me nuts.

Some days are a constant battle, from sunrise to sundown. I wake up in the morning to the sound of kids body-slamming each other in the hallway, of eyes being poked, toys being thrown, and cats being forced into tutus and lipstick. The before-school scramble is punctuated by impassioned wardrobe rejections and complaints about the shoddy table service at breakfast. They walk in the door after school, bellowing because they’re hungry, but only if we’re having pancakes for dinner, and evenings wrap up with the nightly, epic Battle of the Toothbrush, likely concluding with me sitting on the edge of the tub with my face in my hands, trying to remember the last time I peed in peace.

But there’s some kind of magic in these kids. Some otherworldly voodoo that keeps me entranced. I watch them from around corners while they play, I close my eyes and inhale them when they are near but not looking, I commit the soft lines of their faces to memory, knowing that they will only be young for a season, and understanding that even as I stare, the lines are changing and I have already lost this moment in time. I ache physically when they are away from me, the distance, however short, creating a slight, almost imperceptible disruption in the pattern of my breath.

Every night, since the day they were born, I have gone into their bedrooms after they have fallen asleep to whisper in their ears. I tell them how I love them, how my soul is made of them, hoping the words will somehow sink into their dreams and seep into their bones, become the substance of their very matter and what they believe to be true about the world.

Every movement we make as parents is designed to help our children leave us. The days sometimes seem long, but I know the years will be fleeting. Before long they will be making lives of their own, the time they spent here with me a sepia-toned snapshot. And even when I am old, and my children have children, I will still be under their spell, mesmerized by the smell of their skin, their movements, and the soft lines of their faces.