Happy

Yesterday, when I picked you up from school, as I buckled your brother into his car seat, you begged to go play in the soft motor room.

"Okay," I told you, "you can go down there and play for one minute. But when I come down with Sammy, it's going to be time to go, okay?"

"Okay!" you squealed, running off. You only got about two steps away before you turned around to give me the book you were holding. "I'm going to go play now!" you said again, turning to run. You got about four steps away and then returned, bringing me your stuffed bunny to hold. With your hands now empty, you told me, "I'm going to go down to the soft motor room to play!" and turned once again to go. But then you paused, the excitement of special playtime shining in your eyes. "I'm going to go play, but then I want you and baby Sammy to come down and play WITH me for just one minute!"

How could I say no? "Okay," I smiled, "but just for ONE minute. Now go, hurry! Run, run, run!"

You turned to run, and then looked back again. "You . . ."

"Yes, Sammy and I are going to come down and play with you."

"Okay," you smiled. And then you turned and ran. You were wearing a purple track suit with aqua stripes. You looked like a tiny little track star. Your hair was falling in a curly mess around your head, half of it loose from the pony tail I had put in neatly that morning. As you ran, I stopped and watched. You ran down the hall, your tiny, 2-yr-old legs working hard. When you run, you lift your right leg up higher than your left, resulting in a bouncing trot that makes all the curls on your head bounce and sway.

You ran away down the hall, and suddenly I thought of all the halls I'd watch you walk down in your life, all the times you would head off independently to live your own adventure. I saw you walking away from me to the safety of your classroom in elementary school, to dances in middle school, to your friends in high school. I wanted to freeze time, right then, capture you running, the pumping legs, the bouncing curls, the joy splashed across your face.

You turned at the end of the hall and saw me watching you, and you called out, your face etched with excitement, "Come play with me, Mommy!

"Come play with me!"

I smiled and picked up your stuffed bunny, your book, my hands and heart both full of the trappings of toddlerhood.

"Come play with me, Mommy!"

I am, baby girl. I'm coming to play with you. To dive into your world of magic and make-believe and the thrill of playing in the soft motor room at the end of the day.

I am coming to play with you, basking, bathing in the moment, the glory of your youth and your innocence and your exuberance and your desire for me to share it all with you, your need to have me close, to have me join you in your bliss.

In knowing that I am part of your bliss.

I wish I could have grabbed that moment and put it into a charm to wear around my neck for the rest of eternity.

You are my joy, my blessing.

And I'm thankful for every moment when the world around us stops and our hearts connect and your sweet voice rings in my ears (Come play with me, Mommy!) and my happiness swallows me up.