Imagination

I love innocence.  I love it when I remember times of being a super adorable little girl, with an actively adorable imagination.  Like the time I convinced myself that the shoe makers had made the mistake on my shoes alone; that everyone else had fake diamonds and mine were the only ones with real ones.  When I was wearing those sparkly diamond shoes, savoring those thoughts, I stood a little taller, walked a little straighter, talked a little more regally, and just knew that I was going to be discovered as a Real Princess.  I was like five, but it was very real, to me.  I wore those shoes until they made my toes bloody.  Then I hid them away until I got a little older, and lost some of my innocence by graduating to the double digit age of importance.

We were watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone tonight as a family.  It was after the part where Harry convinces Hagrid to tell him the name of the Wizard that had given him his scar that Brennon said, "Oh, I'm glad he didn't make me say {that name}.  I would be so scared to have mean wizards come and zap me with their wands for saying {his} name.!"

When I said, "Brennon, Harry Potter is not real," he looked confused for just one second, and then giggled and said, "Oh, yeah!" and continued his cute giggle. 

I get it.  Sometimes it is hard to forget when something is not real, when what you're thinking about feels so fun to imagine.  Sometimes forgetting your reality for just a moment can be the funnest, most exhilarating adventure of all.