Six impossible things before breakfast (and seven more after)

When seven-and-a-half-year-old Alice told the White Queen that "one can't believe impossible things," the Queen said that believing the impossible requires practice--"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

And here we are again, before breakfast, waiting for the grandkids to wake up and start inviting us to believe in impossible scenarios. For instance, my grandson wants me to believe that he can lift any rock, no matter how big, and toss it into the creek, and my granddaughter wants me to believe that it's perfectly reasonable to wear rollerblades while riding a horse. It looks incredibly uncomfortable to me, but the doll doesn't seem to be bothered and the horse isn't talking.

It could, though. Part of the delight of having small children in the house is knowing that at any moment, anything could happen: the horse could fly or sing or play hopscotch, and the heaviest rock could become a ship tossing on stormy seas. Even the littlest one invites others to engage in her imaginary worlds: though possessing few discernible words, she knows how to ask for a horsey ride on my knees or a game of peek-a-boo.

I love to see their creative energy at work, and I love the way they challenge us to dwell in their imaginary worlds. You never know what might happen in there, but it's a colorful place and full of fun, and spending time there always makes me smile. So why not believe the impossible? If six impossible things aren't enough, let's aim for seven.

She knows how to ham it up for the camera.

Grampa's teaching them to skip rocks.

I knew there was a reason to hold on to those American Girl dolls.

Hummingbird moths love my bottlebrush buckeye.

"I can do it myself!"