They're doing it again. The thing kids do best. They're existing within an elaborate, invisible reality. I can't see any of it but I know it's there. I see them running around in their baggy legged pajama pants, bare feet, with messy hair. They are police officers, they are knights, they are monsters, they are ninjas, they are going on vacation. They are a family, they are friends. They are seamlessly flowing through the story line that is coming out of thin air.
And then as easily as they slipped into this other-world, I see cracks. I see the fabric wearing thin. Oh no, their stories aren't lining up. The ninja wasn't ready to become an ordinary little boy, the queen's son or the brother waiting at the airport. The girls vacation lasted a little too long. The sword got bent. Someone was standing in the closet waiting to be found, but the story took a sharp left. The monsters are hungry. All at once the line of children going up and down the stairs, shouting out the narrative interlaced with excitement and giggles has become a broken tangle of opposing directions, they don't agree.
And now they are eating lunch, their minds drained. But if I pay close attention, I can see the second their minds start to rework some stories, write new narratives. Almost ready for another round of visiting the place adults rarely ever go. Kids are magic.