Ian, my 6 year old, came up to me this week, and made this very profound statement. It really took me back (especially since he loves reading books on magic, dragons, and all kinds of fantasy creatures).
And I found myself so wrapped up in that thought. I've spent a lot of time as a mother valuing pretend play, imaginary play and all the ways that children experiment with that they know, see, fear and love. And that fact that he shows so much confidence in his pretending makes me so happy. But that he would take something like "magic," recognize that it doesn't exist, but acknowledge that anything can exist when he's pretending it to, made me smile.
I love childhood. I really do. I don't really know what I'll do when my kids grow up, or when I grow up for that matter. I just won't. That's that.