Little Star: The Story of My Little Daughter

It's magical in the way little kids see the world - everything is a miracle and always a treasure. My daughter, only nine years old, has a small amount of energy, laughter and curiosity in her eyes. Her name is Aanya, and this is the story of an extraordinary ordinary day simply because it was there. It was a Sunday morning, with sunlight swarming through the windows and dancing on the wooden floor like golden butterflies. I was in the kitchen and had tea when I heard her little feet hearing the hallway.

"Mama!" She calls, her voice cheerfully and excited. "The sun is awake!"

"Yes, honey," I smiled: "Like you."

She was padded into her kitchen's favorite pajamas. Her hair was a mess of curly hair, and her eyes were full of ideas. "Today is a big day of adventure," says Ernst, placing her small hands on her waist.

"Really?" I asked, placing my tea and kneeling to her level. "And what adventure will we begin?"

She recorded her fingers on her chin and laughed deeply. "Forest! But first," she said, "We need peanut butter."

We sat together at the table and chewed it with toast. Of course, the crumbs came everywhere, and she laughed when a particularly sticky bowl of peanut butter clinched to her chin. After breakfast, she rushed to her room, what she called her "discoverer's attire": a sun hat, rain boots, a cloak from an old towel.

We worked with a small park near our home. The air was fresh, the sky was perfect blue, and the trees exploded with new spring leaves. Aanya stayed on the way to all the flowers, pebbles and beetles, and named them all with imaginative titles - "Mr. Antlers" of the beetles, "Princess Dandy" of the dandelions, especially the "Royal Leaf" of the large maple leaf.

When we arrived at the glove at the edge of the park, she snapped for the air. "Mom! Look! A fairy tale ring!"

It was just a small circle of mushrooms, but for them, it was a portal to another world. She squatted deep, whispering the "fairy" and left a small offer - one of her hair clips, a glittering, light purple. "You need something shiny," she said very seriously. "So you know we are friends."

We sat under a large oak tree, and suddenly, she still leaned forward. The wind rusted the branches over it, and I could feel how her breath slowed as she relaxed. "Mama," she said quietly: "Do trees talk to each other?"

"I think they do," I replied. "Maybe not as we do, but on your own tree."

She nodded. "I think they're talking to each other about birds and rain."

After a while, we went home, not before she insisted on collecting some "magic" stones and feathers that she said from Phoenix. She kept clutching her.

That afternoon, we continued making pillows in our living room. Inside it was our secret cave. She showed me the treasures, and we invented a story about everyone - the pen came from a firebird that got too close to the clouds. The stone was the key to the hidden kingdom.

When the sun began, I felt sleepy. Her head rested on my arms, breathing evenly and softly.

"Mama", she almost slept, "Was it real today?"

I kissed her forehead. "Yes, baby. It was so real."

"Even a fairy?" she asked.

"Especially fairies."

And by that it left, still holding the Phoenix feathers.

That day reminded me that magic is not found in far away countries or in old books. It lives in the hearts of little children, their miracles, their joys, their stories. Every day there is a little adventure with my daughter - full of laughter, love, and the right touch of fairy tales.