The bubbles must be from the mermaids in the water

I always wondered at the world seen through a child's eyes. Sprinkled liberally with details from their imagination, it must be so much livelier and colorful than the world I see through my wary adult eyes.

Evelyn's world is crowded with imaginary play mates. There's Janey who is sometimes her daughter sometimes her friend; Laney who is her son; the new addition, Abigail who is her baby girl; and the imaginary pet, Fido. Sometimes, she would talk about her "imaginary mom". Yes, as if her real mom is so not up to par that she needs to make up a new one. But then I realized that her real mom, me that is, is firmly anchored in the nitty-gritty practicality of life, and lacks romantic theatrics that could spice up any old day. I mean, just take a look at me, baby on hip, shirt often decorated by the baby with fruit stain and graham cracker, hair roughly finger combed through, dark circles hanging under my eyes; not exactly the picture of elegance that the three-year-old seeks in her fairy tale like world. Besides, the gentle mothers in her stories would never utter harsh phrases such as "don't dip your hair into the milk!" or "kitchen towel is not a veil, put it back". Moreover, her imaginary mom could "die" on command so that she could gracefully wallow in sarrow.

Real life experiences often gets incorporated into her imaginary world. After Lauren's birth, Evelyn has given birth to Janey so many times, I couldn't even begin to keep track. Upon hearing a friend acquiring a puppy, Fido came to life. Evelyn would all of a sudden dash off to a corner to check on him, or stop in mid step to call for him.

One night, I asked her to take off the plastic ring on her finger before she goes to bed. She pointed out that I get to wear my ring all day long. I told her that's because the ring is my wedding ring. It's ultra special , and I don't ever take it off. Right after I told her this, she told me that she married Gentry (a new imaginary character), and the plastic ring is her wedding ring. In fact, she is right now sitting in Gentry's castle. Yes, she loves Gentry and he loves her, more than that, she's actually making a baby right now. See, Evelyn gestured with her hand, her belly is growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger by the minute. She even held up an imaginary sonogram to show me the progress of her baby's growth.

Sometimes, the imaginary world also encroaches upon real life. Actions and decisions were made because of certain imaginary plot. The other day, we let Evelyn choose between two restaurants for Saturday night. She's been asking to go to the first one for a couple of weeks, but her daddy wanted to give her an option, so offered her the second one for choice. At first, she was decisive, she wanted to go to the first restaurant. But then she thought about it and told us that Janey wants to go to the second one, so maybe we should go to the second one. "Really?" we asked, "is that your choice too? We'll go to whichever one you want to go to." She pondered some more. Finally, she told us that Janey would be too fussy in the second restaurant, so we better go to the first one. So the first one it was.

At a family event at Evelyn's school, one of her teachers told me that on a walk in the woods the other day, the children came to a little brook. When they saw the bubbles in the gurgling water, they easily came to the conclusion that the bubbles must be made by the mermaids in the water. Because of course bubbles are pretty and fun and almost mythical, and of course there are mermaids in any body of water. Did I once also see the world this way? I wish I remembered how.

Old

"How old are you, Mommy?" Evelyn asked one day.
"Old," I said, knowing that at the tender age of 3, being 4 means she's quite mature, 5 is all grown up, and at 6, one certainly could drink/drive/get married/rule a country.
So, she pondered a bit on my response, and then, "TWENTY?" She said, in an exaggerated tone, as if that is an astonishingly "old" number and I just could not possibly be older then that.
"Yes," I laughed, "20."

I still remember coming home from school one day after we learned the names associated to the stages of life, and told my mother, who was then in her thirties, that she is approaching mid-life. Upon hearing this, her eyes went wide (not quite wild, but almost), she gasped and stuttered indignantly about how foolish my remark was, and how the label of being "middle age" is not going within 20 feet of her, never mind applied to her.

It's funny how the perspective of time changes as more time passed in our lives. I remember an hour being forever when I was little. Yet now, an hour is nothing. A bat of an eye. A turn of a page. Seasons come and seasons pass. A year goes by faster than I can acclimate to the new number shown on the calendar. My mother, who is now really in her middle age, told me that at her stage of life, 10 years is but a unit. If the passage of time was a little creak winding through sun speckled woods when we began our lives, its force gathers and speed increases as we travel through life until it's a roaring river rumbling by.

I don't know how many times people would stop to smile at the little ones, and warn me "they grow up too quickly." "I know," I always reply, for I really do feel it, even though they are still young. My newborn is about to turn one next month, and the older child did not hesitate to wave goodbye when dropped off at school. If I could, I would be bottling up everything I felt right now into jars to be smelled, tasted, and felt later. Unfortunately, memories don't work that way. I can only take pictures and video tape them whenever I can, trying to capture and archive forever what life is like now. And melt into their embraces every time I hold them, cherishing the feeling of their warm, soft bodies against mine.