Shhh! Our potential panic room. Please don't tell the zombies where we're hiding. |
Tonight I asked a question I probably shouldn’t have about the
tentative powers of the heroine in my current work-in-progress. Oh, the debate that
ensued! My daughter re-wrote my story's entire Black Moment – and my son shot her
whole notion down citing an example from some anime he watches. I let them
finish before thanking them for the tangent and deciding my direction is a good
one.
I love our spirited conversations about things that don’t exist. I
cherish their unbridled willingness to not just think outside the box, but
concede that there is no box at all. We need the escape. Heck – I need the
escape. There is so much sad, bad, heart-wrenching news outside the walls of
our happy home that I approach my Facebook newsfeed with a healthy dose of
trepidation these days. They know that life is hard and unfair and some kids
live with unspeakable horrors. We are lucky, we know. The dangers we conjure
live only in our minds and on my pages. No one is harmed in the making of our “what
if’s.”
So this is the world I live in. The crazy, every day realm I share with
children who will one day blame their warped perception of possibilities on
their overly imaginative mother. I figure they’ll either forgive me or wind up
on Dr. Phil’s show. My money is on fond memories and grandchildren who appreciate
a Nana who believes in fairies.
Stefanie
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