Right now, I am sitting on the couch in my living room. There's a king sized fuzzy blanket in a delightful shade of green to wrap up in. I should probably have been doing laundry today, but didn't really feel like it. Also, at some point before I go to bed, it will probably be a good idea to clean up the house a little, but I can't seem to find the motivation. I think I am taking a vacation from my vacation.
My 2 year old is standing on the other side of the room, just where the light shines in through the closed curtains. He's just learned to spit in the last few weeks. He calls it "blowing bubbles." At this point, he's spitting into the light, watching the little droplets forming as they spew forth into the air in front of him. It's kept him pretty much entranced for nearly ten minutes. I forget sometimes what it's like to find joy (or in his case, fascination) in the simple things.
The thing about two year olds is that everything is wonderful like that. Does this plate roll on its side? Do the pictures in this book change if I read it again? What happens if I take off my socks and put them on again? Is this shirt better than the other one? Or the one before it? Or the one before it?
Sometimes, I don't really appreciate how amazing life is. It's really easy to get lost in the day to day stuff and ignore the wonder around me. I have to do the laundry, clean the house, feed the kids, go shopping, or whatever else it is. (And all of those things have to be done.) I just don't have to lose sight of the fact that I am surrounded by everyday miracles.
Especially when that two year old helps with the dishes or laundry, wants to vacuum or make his bed. Or does something sweet and funny, just because that's who he is. And I think he really has the right idea. He's happy pretty much all the time, even if all he's doing is spitting into the sunlight. Shouldn't we all be like that?