Hocus pocus

I'm happy to report that we went to a magic show at Mark's school last night.

Happy mostly because it meant Mark finished his math homework, a condition to our attendance. He was furiously scribbling on his worksheet with an orange pencil when I arrived, surrounded by a crowd of wide-eyed children holding their breath, watching him race the clock.

As I walked across the room, Mark yelled out, "I'm almost done!" and the kids all whipped their heads around to look at me. Obviously, he'd relayed the dire consequences, because as I approached the table, a little boy told me solemnly, "I did my homework, and I'm going to the magic show tonight."

"Good job," I told him. "I hope we're going, too!"

I said that because "I'm almost done" means either a) Mark really has four pages of homework left, or b) he actually is almost done. I can't tell which until I look over the pages, and I guarantee that Mark will be equally indignant that I dare to question either option. That's what happened Monday night.

"How many pages did you do today?" I asked him Monday, on the way home.

"I'm almost done!" he told me, happily.

But when I checked, he'd only completed two pages. "You still have nine pages left," I told him. "That's not even CLOSE!"

"Yeah, I did two pages," he repeated, like I was an idiot. "That's what I said, I'm almost done!"

And so we had our own math lesson, wherein I explained that 11 - 2 = 9, and 9 / 2 = 4.5. "You must do five pages tomorrow and four pages Wednesday. Can you do that?" I asked.

He snorted. "I can do that, easy! I can do it with my eyes closed!"

I glanced at the two pages, which looked like that's how he'd done it. "OK, but please do it with your eyes open," I said. I was afraid the only part of the conversation he'd remember was the eyes closed part.

Luckily, when I arrived today, he really was almost done. He had one row of problems left, and since I was 15 minutes early, I let him finish.

I'm glad I did, because the magic show was really fun. Families piled onto the lawn, enjoying their pre-show picnic dinners. The kids danced around and asked, over and over again, "When's the show gonna start?" Without fail, every parent answered the same: "As soon as you finish your dinner!"

The magician put on a great show. We watched in amazement as he chopped off a little girl's hand, which she displayed, intact, moments later. He made another kid levitate, then pulled his own two children out of an empty box. He even turned the school principal into a bunny rabbit, which made the kids scream excitedly. They screamed even louder when the principal reappeared, nibbling on a carrot.

So I'm glad Mark finished his homework. It was a fun evening out there on the lawn, munching popcorn and laughing at lame magician jokes.

I even imagined myself as a magician for a few minutes. Dressed in black clothes and a sparkly vest, I moved easily across the stage, as the smoke machines spewed puffy clouds dramatically.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for my final trick!" I'd wave my wand toward Mark, and say, "On the count of three, my trusty assistant will make his finished homework appear!"

We'd all count to three and POOF! Mark would pull his completed spelling words and sentences from his backpack. The crowd would burst into applause, and I would bow gracefully. I'd thank the cheering crowd, and my assistant, and we'd exit stage right, before the raucous clapping stopped.

Hey, c'mon, a mom can dream...