I lived for magic. Pretty dresses and pretty places. Mountains and oceans. Music. Photos. Airplane windows and coffee shops. New people, new adventures.
And then it was an engagement ring, wedding dress, flying around the world. Babies, houses.
Novel. Magic.
Somewhere, in the thousands of diaper changes and doctor appointments and endless laundry the magic goes. And then you’re tired. And there’s less time and less money and you’re just trying to defeat a to-do list that doesn’t end.
There is nothing magical about a wet bed or car trouble. I don’t care how much you love your life.
The trouble with hunting for magic is that you’re always hunting. Eventually the mountains become memories, the plane tickets disappear, and adventure starts looking suspiciously like a trip to Costco after baseball practice.
So what do you do when roots feel like chains?
Thank you for saying there is no magic in car trouble and wet beds because I agree.
I have definitely done fewer of the things that feel like chains these days, if I can avoid them. I just don't do them. I live in a house that's a little messier or a little less organized, or accept fewer invites. I focus more on creating the magic than searching for it. I try to bring the kids into the magic instead of forming it separately or escaping them entirely (although sometimes, we need a break!). Sometimes I just say, "Today is Mom Day," and I pick everything we do. A drive, a thrift store, a new restaurant, a new beach. So how it goes.
And when the unexpected happens, we just try to make magic to counter it. I've had stoves that quit mid-dinner; we had ice cream for dinner. We had a car that was totaled in an accident a while back; we spent the rest of the day making things to counter the broken thing. We built a birdhouse from scrap wood, spread seed, and filled our hummingbird feeders and watched them swarm.
I guess the magic is found in littler things for now.