My kids have got it, Imagination.  At any given moment they are NOT Seth and Amelia, but a cast of characters that I have a hard time keeping up with.

We could have Annie, Sandy-dog, Daddy Warbucks, Miss Farrell and “the girl that says ‘Oh my goodness, Oh my goodness'” or Baby Dog, Sheep, Frog, Pig and Ant (Word World) or Michael, Jane, Mary Poppins, Burt and one of the penguins or Uncle Chip, Aunt Nanny, Isaac (used to be Andrew, but recently changed to Isaac), Meredith and Tess or Super Why, Princess Pea, Red and Pig or…well, you get the picture.  I never know who these children will be.  I never know who I will be.

And, I’m glad.  I love that my children have such vivid imaginations.  While it gets a wee bit annoying at times (the fighting over who they are going to be and who they want me to be), I adore it.  People tell me that they’ve never known children with such great imaginations.  To me, it’s normal.  My nephew, who just turned 16, named everyone in our family after Star Wars characters when he was about 4.  I thought this was normal.

If it’s not normal, I’ll take abnormal anyday.  I’ll also take the confusion of  never knowing who I am.  Because I know that no matter who the kids tell me I am, I am their Mom.  It’s a good thing to be.


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