Piper does. She made a magic wand last week at Sunday School. It can do all the stuff a normal magic wand can do. Like make you happy. Poof. Like make your green beans disappear. Poof. Like clean up your room. Poof.
Piper believes in magic. Her wand can make all things possible.
“Magic’s not the hard part, Mom. The hard part is figuring out what to ask for.”
Go ahead. Just try to look at little Piper with her pixie cut and not smile. I dare you. Double dog dare you. Can’t, can you?
Me, neither. This was taken the summer she turned two. She’s still dressing in fancy skirts. She still likes high heels. She still makes us laugh. And Piper still spreads magical pixie dust through our days.
Once upon a time there was a ballet shoe. There was only one ballet shoe, but it wasn’t lonely. The shoe had been passed to Piper from her older sister, who had lost the mate along the way. But the lack of partner didn’t matter to Piper. She loved the ballet shoe just as it was.
She wore the ballet shoe to bed every night. She put it on when she came home from school. She carried it in her backpack during the day. The ballet shoe was in good company. There was also a hot pink ruffled tutu that Piper wore every day. Every single day. One hundred and twenty-seven days in a row and counting. It went well with all of her outfits. Her mother had to wash the tutu while Piper slept with her one ballet shoe to make sure the tutu was ready for morning wear. The tutu was the first thing Piper put on every morning and the last thing she took off at night. Sometimes the tutu liked to sleep in her bed so that it could stay close.
Piper said she felt like a superhero in her hot pink tutu and one ballet shoe, and so her mother let the magic take its own course. The end.