Dear Kid,

Not only is there magic in our everyday lives (for a reminder, see Notice the Magic Before It Disappears), there is magic in nature.

This time of year, there is magic in the crocuses and daffodils fighting their way through the last of winter. There is magic in the delight a warm day manages to spread over all of us. There is magic in each bud that unfurls (how does nature get all of those buds so equally perfect?).

And of course, there is nature’s magical way of making us all sneeze simultaneously.

I love spring (not so much the spring allergies, but it’s the price we pay in the Midwest). I love watching the way the trees and plants come to life slightly more each day. I love hearing the birds discuss the joys of being alive in spring. I love the way the deer wander through the front yard, heading directly for the tasty tulip leaves. (I joke, I do not exactly love sharing the tulips with the deer, but I don’t dis-love it enough to stake out the front garden and hand out reprimands. That will come later in the season.)

Behold! It is the Springtide of the Year (and all that).

The weather is magical. Warm one minute, frigid the next. Bam! Magic.

I love looking for babies in spring. The baby chipmunks that pop up to see if mom and dad are around. The baby bunnies so tiny they can hide in the lawn (especially if we’re a little behind on the mowing). The baby birds who demand mom and dad bring home dinner. The baby deer who freely help themselves to whatever they can reach (OK, not the parent deer, but the babies I will share with).

None of these babies are around yet. It’s still too early. But that doesn’t stop me from looking for them. Remind me to plan a trip to the zoo for Zoo Babies later in the spring.

It’s spring, it’s the season of renewal, and I think it’s magical.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

We live in a magical time.

Not Hogwarts magical, although I’m not ruling that out entirely.

And not David Copperfield/Criss Angel/Penn & Teller magical, although I think they give Harry/Ron/Hermione a run for their money.

I’m talking plain old 21^st century magic.

Magic like electricity and cars and cell phones and TV.

Think about it. Most of us can’t really explain how those things work except in the most general sense.

So I think that probably makes it magic.

And we don’t even notice this magic, this incredible time we’re living in, until something stops working.

When the car does something interesting enough to earn it a prime spot on Car Talk, we notice. When the lights go out, we notice. When there is Nothing To Watch on TV, the magic is gone and we notice.

Take a moment today to notice the magic when it’s being magical—before it disappears.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Mankind (I’m a generalist when it comes to language. If you’re offended, we can have that discussion another day) has long known that there is something mystically magical (in a not entirely good way) about laundry.

Everyone knows about the Amazing Disappearing Sock in the Dryer conundrum. This has existed since people washed their socks in the river, draped them over bushes to dry, went down to a friend’s hut to discuss what was trending on the drums, and came back to discover one sock gone. Just gone. Ancient people eventually realized this was due to a syndrome in which mastodons often got a cold nose and stole socks to wear as nose cozies. One of the only people not at all fazed by disappearing socks is Pi, who purposefully wears mis-matched socks almost all the time (notable exception: during a soccer game) thus thumbing (or toeing) her nose at cold-nosed mastodons.

Everyone also knows of the Magic Stain Appearance Trick, in which stains that were not present prior to washing show up during folding. Sneaky things, those stains. A stain that appears during washing is a special kind of stain and there is almost nothing you can do to get it out. Learn to pretend you spilled something on your clothes 10 minutes ago and haven’t had time to get back to the dorm and change–or get rid of said garment.

I’m pretty sure the rules that govern most of the planet are suspended in the laundry room. Something to do with laundry wards and ancient laundry curses is my guess.

Have you ever noticed that you can put all the laundry in the machine, leave to go watch an important episode of NCIS: L.A., and when you come back to move the laundry to the dryer the hamper is full again?

Magic. Also your sister’s knack for hoarding laundry until her room is about to be declared a disaster area–then three months’ worth of laundry tumbles down the chute in a “whump.” And by “three months’ worth of laundry” I mean what she wore yesterday and the day before.

Laundry also has a way of consuming the things you most want to wear.

On the rare occasions when I wake up confident about the Right Clothes for the day, I inevitably discover that the particular outfit I have in mind is waiting for a wash to be done. This of course leads to me standing in my closet mulling–and rejecting–everything in sight.

In some ways this is not totally horrible as I spend most morning staring at my closet wondering why it is full of things I don’t want to wear. So I’m used to it. But it would be nice to have a break occasionally.

Off to get the laundry started.

Love, Mom