Mom is magical.

As I write this, my wife, Rocky, is in Kenya. But she uses magic to be with us each day. She will be there for nine more days working at Saint Monica’s Childrens Home. I know this number, not because I’m good with math or because I am so lost without her that I’m counting the moments until she returns. Though the latter may be closer to the truth than I’d like to admit, I know it’s nine days because before she left, she made a countdown chart for the kids. It’s held by magnets on the front of our fridge. The kids love it.

Mom is magical.

I watched the kids play in our backyard for hours today. They were playing with a cheap croquet set that my wife purchased before she left. She hid it behind the curtains of a window we never use. She then led the kids to it with clues, extracted from an envelope that was taped to the pantry door. The instructions on the outside: “Open on Friday, 10/8, After dinner.” There are six envelopes with clues taped to that door. The kids love it.

Mom is magical.

On our kitchen table sits a jar with 10 folded pieces of paper. The outside of the jar reads, “Mom’s Thank You Fors.” Each little piece of paper contains something she’s thankful for while away. Each of our six kids takes turns reading one at dinner each night as we do our own “thank you fors.” The kids love it.

I’ve never been magical.

I’ve never made a countdown chart for any trip I’ve ever been on. I’ve never left clues to hidden treasures. I’ve never left my thank you fors in a jar. I’ve never tried to make sure I was there, even when I wasn’t. I’ve never even thought about it before this moment. I bet the kids would love it.

I should at least try to be magical.