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My son reset the dial on my bathroom scale. This morning, I woke up weighing five pounds less than I did two days ago. I was startled, happy and confused all in about 4.3 seconds, then I stepped off the scale and saw the needle pointing sarcastically to 295 instead of 0. I think it was laughing at me, asking me, "Did you really think that all of the comfort eating you've been doing since Wednesday was going to help you drop five pounds? Really?"
Who can blame me for indulging in some magical thinking his morning? Kids do it all the time -- their imaginations run wilds with adventures and schemes. Even Violet has started embellishing her tales with juicy adverbs and exaggerated facial and vocal expressions. It's pretty funny to see her conducting a story with her little hands, flinging them wide with excitement and pulling her fists under her chin and shivering when relaying that she was 'cared.
In my little magic world, my laundry is always done, my house is free from dog-fur dust wolves (they are nowhere near tame enough to be called bunnies), and the sewing machine isn't my enemy. I never imagine anything too extravagant, though sometimes I pretend that there is a brand new minivan parked in my driveway and that it is mine, free and clear with no payments. I don't daydream that I've married a famous movie actor or musician. I don't imagine myself wearing a size two. OK... yes, sometimes I dream of wearing a size 10 again, but that might actually be attainable if I'd get up off my bum and give it a shot.
So what do you think about magically?