Last night, as Gordy tucked him in bed he said, “Dad, it’s the night before back to school, what if I can’t fall asleep? You know like the night before Christmas?” His excitement for the first day of school was contagious. To me, it seems like a clear sign that the summer of seven was a success.

Still, there’s something so wild and untouched about Alaska that leaves me longing for more every time we visit. It could be the moose that graze in the front grass of our friends’ home. It could be the bear black bear that meandered his way up their drive. It could be the midnight sun, the forests packed tightly next to town, or the severe mountains with ice-blue glaciers that meet frozen seas.

But, Alaska for me is a state of mind. It’s traveling back in time. Sure, that could be due to the fact that the state boasts a meager 700,000 residents which means there’s over a square mile of land for every man, woman and child. I suppose hiking around a corner and running into a mama moose and her calf, or attaching bear bells to my backpack help to establish the idea that Alaska at its core doesn’t quite belong to us. In Alaska, whether on a remote trail or next to a big box store life remains untamed. Tapping into this untamed land (even for a short chunk of time) reminds me to embrace our wild open spaces and get out and explore.

Let’s kick things off with birthdays.  Luke turned “gasp” seven this year.  Ancient spiritualists and modern day mystics believe we shed our skin and start anew every seven years.  It feels like Luke is shedding his skin.  His once chubby baby body is now long and lanky, with a toothy grin and impish eyes.  Gone are the days of sweet little birthday parties with cake and ice-cream.  Instead we’ve ushered in the era of Nerf gun wars and fart jokes.  While on one hand it’s hard to say goodbye to the small boy with the wide green eyes, it’s also amazing to watch him carve out his own space in the world.  Like at the soccer field where he races off to the snack bar with a pocket full of his own money to buy treats, and comes back with the change.  Or, at the dinner table where our conversations are about what it means to be a good friend and what’s happening in Egypt. 

But, even with his budding independence and expanding world view, Luke at his core is all kid.  This was especially evident last week during the threat of an impending blizzard.  So maybe I can’t officially call last week’s snow a blizzard, but the night of Luke’s birthday our entire household was eager with the anticipation of the promise of snow.  All three of us spent the evening glued to the windows and checking the weather report for updates.  I’d given up hope.  Snow in the Pacific Northwest is a rarity, not to mention the fact that every forecast for snow this season has led to nothing but good old rain.  Luke and his father were believers.  At 6:00 the next morning they woke me with delighted screams and pulled me out of bed to see the brilliant white coated ground. 

Luke tromped outside in pj’s and boots.  Watching him from my steamy kitchen window throwing snow up in the air and trying to catch it on his tongue reminded me that even as he learns to be his own person in the world, he doesn’t have to give up the wonderment of childhood.  He can take it with him.  And, I hope he will.

I promise I will not monopolize this post with any sort of Harry Potter review. Seriously, what’s left to be said?  

What our little day excursion did get me thinking about though was magic.  More specifically how the pursuit of magic seems to be eroding in our culture.  One of my friends was recently lamenting about the amount of homework her two and half year old son brings home from preschool.  My friend works full time and has a newborn, so confessed she usually does her preschooler’s homework late in the evening after the kids have gone to bed.  In our household, the erosion of magic, comes in the form of standardize testing.  My first grader trots home with a practice math test in his backpack every day.  Fortunately for him, the tests are a breeze, but I know that’s not the case for many of his classmates, and more importantly what other innovative projects do teachers have to give up in order to prepare today’s students for the litany of standardize tests before them?

Add to this the assortment of technological choices our kiddos have at their fingertips after-school like:  TV, video games, cell phones, and social media.  Not to mention the unyielding trend of organized after-school activities.  I remember hopping on my bike and tooling around the neighborhood after school, or playing Little House on the Prairie with the neighbor kids in my backyard.  Now, the expectation is carting our kids from soccer to piano, and dance to art class.

I suppose that’s why spending a day immersed in magic resonated with me.  Aside from the whimsical nature of the exhibit itself, think potting Mandrakes and playing a round of Quidditch, all three kids were sucked out of their test-taking and technology worlds.  My tweener niece and nephew didn’t focus on looking cool or texting friends.  Soon to be seven, Luke didn’t beg to play on my iPhone or plug into a movie on the train ride home.  Instead, they chomped on chocolate frogs, pretended to stupefy each other, and rambled on about how amazing it would be if magic really existed.  And, for that moment, it did.

Insert screeching car sounds here!  I wanted to shout, ”WHAT?  Who told you that?”  But as I glanced in the rear-view mirror I noticed his bottom lip was quivering.  So, I shakily steered the car towards home and tried to pull something reasonable together.  In a panic to help him hold on to his belief I threw out, “Well, you can believe anything you like honey, but I certainly wouldn’t want to risk not believing and having Santa skip our house.”  Ouch!  Not my best parenting moment.   

Fortunately, as fate would have it, waiting in my Inbox was an email from the PNP (Portable North Pole) reminding me that Santa is back and better than ever this year.  The site allows you to upload photos and details that only the Big Man would know.  Then, Santa gives kids a sneak-peak into his workshop, ice-caves where his elves are busy handcrafting magnificent sculptures, and introduces his fleet of reindeer.  All this is neatly delivered via email directly from Mr. Claus. 

For the second year in a row, the PNP saved Christmas in the Seeley house.  The technology is seamless.  Even as an adult, I was completely captivated.  Santa magically knew all about our trip to Rome, and Luke’s first lost tooth.  He pinpointed our house on his radar screen and recommended that Luke help out more during the holidays.  This has prompted a mad dash to do the dishes after dinner each night, but more importantly it’s restored the belief that he wasn’t ready to give up.  I know that in the years to come, Luke’s belief in Santa and all things magical will be relegated to a childhood memory.  But, I also know that for now he still wants to believe and thanks to the PNP he does!

And then, just like that, it happened.  One day his tooth was rock solid, the next it held a slight hint of a wiggle, and hours later Luke bounded into the living room holding his tooth and grinning ear to ear. 

Today the space between seems much wider.  The tiny gap is a reminder of how quickly my child is transforming, and the ongoing realization that there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  As much as I’d like to freeze this moment or wish him back to younger days where he slept on my chest for hours, his evolution through childhood marches on.  I think my only option is to embrace the space, and hope that with each little wiggle I can learn to let go.

But on to other news…my blog is just one of many things that has sat neglected while enjoying this near-perfect Pacific Northwest summer.  It’s been an unusual summer in some ways as we’ve flipped between a flurry of events and ultra-lazy days lounging in the sun.  We’ve been reading some of my childhood favorites, including John D. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain.  I so love hearing Luke laugh out loud at the adventures of J.D, Tom and Sweyn.  “The Water Closet” chapter has gotten a ton of play in our household.  Some stories, particularly those involving toilets and first grade boys, stand the test of time.

Our trip to Italy may have permanently ruined him for childhood camps.  After talking up how cool the Dino Camp he attended last week was going to be, he was convinced that he and his buddies would be excavating and searching for actual dinosaur bones and historical sites.  His comment after the first day, “Uh, Mom, we just dug for plastic stuff, it wasn’t a real dig site like in Rome.”  Right.  Good to know.

Summer vacation has also consisted of building a secret passage in the hedge between our house and the neighbor’s, S’mores on the BBQ, sleeping in, hours spent exploring outside, and an addiction to the mindless TV show Wipeout. 

While the boys have gone off on muddy fishing adventures, I’ve been working with my publisher on the launch of Underneath the Ash!  I still pinch myself sometimes when I think about it.  Check back tomorrow for a sneak peek of the cover design.  I love it.  I know my mom would have too, and that’s the best gift of the entire summer.

In the Vatican, Luke created his own treasure hunt after learning from our guide that most statues had leaves strategically placed over their “natural parts.”  He delighted in finding statues still in the buff and was equally awed by the enormity and beauty of St. Peter’s Basilica.

An afternoon spent wandering the ground of the Colosseum led to imaginary adventures of battling tigers and finding a secret trial along Palatine Hill where real life archaeologists were excavating a dig site.  Luke scampered on the cobblestone path and found nooks and crannies inside the monument that Gordy and I would have easily breezed by. 

I credit the ease of the trip with the simple fact that we’re blessed to have an amazing little traveler in our family and the fact that we were prepared with a tiny bag of tricks in the form of a pocket full of coins.  We were ever-ready to stop at a moment’s notice, pull out a coin, and let Luke launch a wish.  Plus, snack breaks for salami and gelato were a well-deserved treat for us all.  I’m so glad we didn’t heed the advice of skeptics and equally glad I was able to experience Rome through Luke eyes.  Legend claims that tossing a coin into the Trevi Fountain ensures a return trip and that’s a wish I know we all hope is granted!

Since our house revolves around all things Star Wars it was only fitting to serve Gordy Yoda pancakes on his special day.  Nothing says I love you dad more than a Storm trooper cut out of fluffy pancake dough or Darth Vader drenched in syrup. 

When Luke and I procured the pancake cutters we also discovered a kid-size Star Wars apron for him to serve them in.  Super cute, plus I figured it could be his standard apron.  Yeah, like aprons get a lot of wear around here…nonetheless he strutted around in the apron and delivered breakfast with flair.  Later in the afternoon, Gordy was surprised to find Luke sitting quietly by himself in his room and his apron stuffed into his garbage can.

Gordy asked, “What’s wrong bud?  What’s your apron doing in the garbage?”

Luke held back slight tears and said, “I threw it away.  It’s your day dad.  I shouldn’t have a gift on your day.”

Gordy scooped him up, removed the apron from the garbage, held him tight and said, “You’re the best present ever bud.”

With a wink to me, they proceeded to check on the world they’re building online.  I think they’ve built a pretty good one here.

Here’s the issue, Gordy is animal whisperer. His gift isn’t limited to one species or specific breed.  Wherever we go animals find him, or better yet he finds them.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many dogs we’ve returned to owners over the last decade.  Stray cats and raccoons know they’ll find food on our front porch. Vacationing in Cozumel last spring he rescued a turtle crossing the road.  Yep, I said turtle.  So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that last week while driving home from a leisurely Saturday lunch, Gordy slammed on the brakes, stopped the car in the middle of the road and came back cradling a tiny wild bunny in his hands. 

To compound matters, Luke seems to have inherited the “speaks to animals” gene.  The pleas began the moment he saw the bunny.  “Please, oh please mom, can we keep it?”   There were promises of warm bottles, a covered cage in the backyard, and late night bunny feedings.  Gordy’s sheepish, begging eyes didn’t help, “You know Kate, it doesn’t have a chance out there.”

Oh great, so either I add a wild bunny to our collection of animals or I become know in our house as the bunny killer.  What’s a mom to do?

Enter Google.  And let me just say thank you Google.  Turns out wild bunnies don’t make good pets.  In fact upon further investigation, I discovered that wild bunnies have less chance of survival in human hands than when left to perils of nature.   I further consulted the emergency vet, who assured me the best solution was indeed to return the bunny to the wild.  Probably in an attempt to make us all feel better, the vet suggested we create a nest for the bunny out of a cardboard box and fill it with leaves and twigs.  Luke took this idea to heart, adding baby carrots to attract the older bunnies.  We tucked the nest under a bramble of blackberry bushes and within seconds the little guy hopped back into the vines.  “Go little guy, you’re back home!” Luke shouted.  Yes, he was, and I gotta say I was just a little sad that his home wasn’t ours.