When the pandemic started I had one goal that stood out more than any other (besides surviving). That my children would believe that magic is real. I think if I'd ask them they'd just think I was being the corny embarrassing dad that I have been practicing my whole life to be. But I think they may believe it. I'm beginning to. The last few weeks they have been by my side for sap collection, syrup making, and making sweet things with sap and syrup. We have had epic sledding rides on a hill that no one else ever found. We have laughed, yelled, and watched too many screens (I mean, it's kind of magical that we can video chat/zoom at all despite our exhaustion from and with it). We have seen what seems to be water come from these 40 trees turn magically into syrup, candy, ice cream, and donuts (and more). I am so grateful to them for sticking with me when I get grumpy and am in pain, for the wonderfully absurd and often intelligent and thoughtful things they say. For reminding me who I am and what they need so I can at least try to provide it. The last year has been horrible, tragic, traumatic and we have more anxieties than we had when it started. But we also have been making magic, seeing magic, and tasting it too.
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