Exclaimed a bare-chested Tyler, while running ecstatically in shorts and flip-flops under an oddly blazing March sun: “Mama, you should take off your shirt. It’s really warm out here!”

One thing I’ll miss after my kids grow up is having little people around who think I perform magic tricks.  Like when I stand in front of a mirror with Anna—she looks at my reflection, then at me, then at my reflection, then at me again.  How did I double myself right before her eyes?  She stares at me like I’m Houdini.

As Tyler gets older, I’ve noticed that more and more I am losing my magical powers.  Maybe it started happening when he realized the only electronic or technological problems I can solve are the ones that require a battery change.  “Go ask Daddy,” I say right on cue, thereby handing the magic wand over to Doug.  Reluctantly, he assumes the role of Head Magician.

Tonight I was reading Tyler a bedtime story, and he had his hand draped around my neck, and his hand rested on the pulse in my throat.  He sat very still as I read, and I thought he was focusing on the story.  Suddenly he bolted upright, eyes bulged and demanded, “Mama!  How did you put your heart in your neck?”

The magic is back.  At least, until the next Leapfrog Leapster malfunction.