Here we are, steamrolling through October, or as we know it around these parts - The Month of Jenny - and I've barely celebrated at all. Maybe I'm getting too old for non-stop self-congratulatory baloney. (Never. Go me!)

Last night, I sorted through the latest batch of school work and art projects. My youngest is the most enthusiastic about her stacks of worksheets and butcher-paper masterpieces. She unveils them with a twinkle in her eye, and a unbridled sense of pride. Although I've seen all these projects before, it cracks me up how differently each kid of mine has interpreted them.

My oldest couldn't be bothered to follow the instructions, ever. If they were supposed to color a worksheet that was labeled with colors to use, she was more likely to flip the whole thing over and draw something on the back. My son only colored the center of whatever the designated space was, and was impatient with his strokes - a few scribbles and he moved along. My youngest, however, takes things in a whole new direction - especially with painting. If they have purple paint, she fills the entire sheet with a flat coat of purple. If it is pink paint, she does the same thing. I have a growing collection of painted butcher-paper squares in solid colors.

It is interesting to see how the kids are approaching the holidays this year, too. With Halloween right around the corner, my oldest has already decided she wants to be a witch. Fine. Done. Easy. My youngest has decided she wants to be a ghost - and she wants to go old-skool with the whole thing - she wants a sheet with eye-holes cut in it. Okay, I can do that, although I suspect the results will end up looking like her mommy is a jaded drunk, but whatever.

My son is less enthused. He's saying he doesn't want to trick-or-treat, and he's not wanting to dress up. He's also saying he doesn't want to take a photo with "Santa" at the mall this year. Since when do third-graders get so meh about Halloween? I'm not sure I'm ready for him to give anything up just yet. I think part of the problem is he's still quite young for his age, and he'd love nothing more than to dress up as a Pokemon character or a dinosaur, but those costumes are too small for him, and he'd probably be teased. I hate it that he's feeling like he's being judged. Also? He's totally going to dress up and trick-or-treat, because Mama needs some Almond Joys.

My oldest just lost another tooth last night, and went to sleep eagerly awaiting the tooth fairy. Her friends at school don't believe anymore, for the most part, and it seems that Santa is a figure of much scrutiny and doubt as well - I'm glad she's still hanging on to the magic, but I know that now that a little seedling of doubt has been planted, the days are numbered. And really, given the ineptitude of the fairies that visit our house, I'm sort of surprised that she's hanging in there at all.

As much as I've bellyached about being a miserable failure at celebrating the holidays, all three kids still believe in magic. I know that it is inevitable that the certainty that they have in their hearts will become doubt, and finally acceptance, and there is good in that, too.

But I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes, remembering how I felt when I crossed that threshold. There's still a little hollow place, something I've filled vicariously through the eyes of my children. For someone who doesn't particularly get sentimental, I'm suddenly gorging myself on memories. I've got my arms outstretched and I'm frantically sweeping all those little moments towards that spot where I once kept my own belief in magic.