The Wishing Well

Afternoon naps? Check. Sippy cup refills? Check. Painted pictures and assembled puzzles? Check, check. It was the long, slow part of the day in the late afternoon when time stretches out like a Salvador Dali clock. Too early to cook dinner (or so I told myself) and too late to make a trip to the park. But the natives were clearly restless, on the verge of some misdemeanor offense. Lil' Miss wandered aimlessly from room to room while Baby Dude loitered about in the kitchen slamming cabinet doors and cackling each time the pots inside clanged together. Trouble was brewing like a cumulonimbus. "Kids, get your shoes. We're going on a walk!"

In a flash, Baby Dude and I were out the door and headed down the driveway. I lugged the red plastic car stroller out of the garage and buckled him inside. Baby Dude was practically break dancing in his seat, shimmying with excitement and shaking in all directions at once. (Yes, it is possible to shake in all directions at once. Don't argue with me.) I called for Lil' Miss who soon appeared in the doorway accessorized with her own little pink stroller and baby doll strapped inside. She tore off down our walkway at a mad speed, the wheels of her stroller only making contact with the cement one side at a time. The baby doll was death-gripping the sides of the stroller as she flopped about, her meerkat eyes pleading with me to save her. Sorry, baby, you're on your own this time.

Just as we walked past our own house I couldn't help but smile when Lil' Miss asked me the question she always asks at the beginning of our neighorhood walks. "Mom, can we see the Wishing Well?"

One of our neighbors down at the end of the street has a fountain near their front door. It's a wooden water well with a hanging bucket that continuously trickles water down into the well. It's very storybookish and for some reason reminds me of the charming hillside houses I took pictures of during my travels through Switzerland. Not an edifice I would choose to put in my front yard, (preferring the cozy beach decor of soggy wetsuits strewn along our walkway), but still very cute.

Lil' Miss would respectfully disagree. She would never describe the Wishing Well as "cute" even though it's the word she uses for everything she likes and she would never reduce it to a distant memory of a place she once visited. To Lil' Miss, the Wishing Well is much more. It's confimation. It's finally the proof she's been waiting for, the union of fact and fiction, the trace of fairy dust right under our noses (or at least at the end of our street). It's hallowed ground, worthy of a whispered voice and tiptoed steps.

We quietly park our strollers in front of the house and mouse over to the Well. Lil' Miss is wearing a smile of pure joy. She is standing perfectly still, waiting and watching. Even I half expect a sea nymph to poke her head up out of the water well to greet us. As she does every time we visit, Lil' Miss asks, "Can I see it closer?"

"No, honey. It's not our house and not our garden. Let's just look from here." And while this is true, I partly keep her at a distance so the Well doesn't lose the otherworldly magic it holds for her.

Then suddenly a rumbling sound comes from the garage. The garage door is opening and a man comes walking out. We have never seen one of the owners of this house during our visits to the Wishing Well. I am nervous and embarrassed because we look strange standing so close to his front door. Sheepishly I say, "Hi. We were just admiring your Wishing Well." He seems confused and walks over to see for himself. "Oh, the fountain! Help yourself. Come any time!" He is very sweet and so I try to include him in on our secret. "You wouldn't by any chance know where Snow White is would you? I'm running out of excuses to explain her absence." He is chuckling but clearly has no idea what I'm talking about. I realize he is not ready for this yet.

As we get the babies strapped back into their strollers and head toward home, Lil' Miss pipes up , "Mom, I know where Snow White is. She's in the castle with the prince and the three dorps!" I turn my head away because I'm laughing so hard. And once again, I'm reminded that it's not my job to solve all the mysteries of the imagination. That job position has already been filled by a younger, shorter, and much more qualified person than me.