Magic is a lot like nature. It abhors a vacuum.
And in this case, the vacuum was caused by the absence of a mother to Eric and Adrian. It was a gap that needed to be filled urgently, but one step at at time. The first inconsistency to be corrected was Mitch's mind.
"Oh, right", Mitch said to himself. "She's out of town visiting a friend who gave birth. Why did I forget that?"
Oddly, he couldn't remember her name or what she looked like. His own wife? He couldn't remember her? "I must be more tired than I thought", he mumbled, yawning. With that he headed back to bed and fell asleep again.
With that crisis averted, the magic started to expand to cover the neighborhood. It needed to find a suitable candidate to fill in the gap. A suitable person to be a loving wife and caring mother to Mitch's sons.
Of course, it couldn't pick anyone. It started by ignoring all the males in the nearby houses. Those would need more adjustment. It then ignored all married women and mothers. Removing those would create a new gap. It would be easier to work with someone unattached. Ideally someone who knew Mitch already, even if just barely. Who, then, would it be?
There was Nina Stephens, 8. She had been Mitch's neighbor, classmate, and - what else? - mortal enemy. Mitch thought she was icky. Nina thought Mitch was gross. She had short, dull brown hair and brown eyes, and was currently asleep.
Next was Cheryl Smith, 14. She had babysat Mitch a few times, and was a cheerful, good-natured redhead who hoped to be a doctor in high school. She was wide awake, scrolling through social media on her phone.
Brooklyn and Madison McKinney, 10, were twins who lived in a big house and turned their nose up at their neighbors. They barely knew Mitch beyond the fact that he existed. They both had blonde hair in ponytails and blue eyes.
Tara Montoya, 17, had been over to Mitch's house a couple of times, but only because her dad was the neighborhood handyman and she often helped him. She had mussed Mitch's hair and said he was cute at the time.
Finally there was old Florence Peterson, 67, the local spinster. She had never married but she was sweet and gentle and loved by the whole neighborhood. She had snow white hair and hazel eyes, and had fallen asleep in front of her TV.