My son just ran up to me in the kitchen and proclaimed, "Mommy, I got happy feet!" while dancing up a storm that would put Michael Flatley to shame.
Now, this isn't new for him. He has said that ever since we got him to sit down and watch the entire Happy Feet DVD several months ago. And he "tap dances" as he says it, just to add that extra emphasis, just in case his two-year-old-toddler-exclamation didn't quite get his point across.
It's just that today, I was in the middle of rolling out and cutting the homemade buns I'm making for tonight's dinner of homemade BBQ sandwiches. I started thinking, and I realized that my child is always happy, barring the inevitable hissy fit he throws upon being told he can't do or have something he really, really wants to have/do. Or when he falls down for the fifty-ninth time today and bangs his knee/head/elbow/bootie (again). Seriously, that child wakes up happy. Rainbows are shooting from his eyes and sparkles and glitter are coming out of his bootie the moment he opens his eyes in the morning.
How often are adults that happy, just to be alive? Or just because someone made them a glass of chocolate or strawberry (or chocolate and strawberry) milk? Or because you made a pee-pee in your Lightening McQueen potty and now you get one Lifesaver candy as your reward?
My child finds the simplest things to be happy about, and becomes overjoyed because he lets those simple things make him so happy.
I think I could learn something from him about happiness. Even on the good days when I'm happy to have my home and family and all those other wonderful things I enjoy in my life.
