A new phrase has entered our family lingo, courtesy of my two-year-old daughter Corrie. When faced with a moment of extreme joy (such as an unexpected cookie or–I’m not kidding–a stroll through the Target shoe section), she’ll look up at me and sigh, "So happy, Momma."
And my heart melts into the gooiest of puddles.
Her ability to find the happiness in the simplest of things convicts me to my core. The frantic pace of daily life keeps my eyes focused on the Next Thing I Have To Do. The patches of clover in my front yard remind me it’s time to put down weed killer. But they make my daughter giggle with joy, "Ooooo…fwowers!"
She’s teaching me things, that girl of mine. This morning she climbed onto the couch for her daily dose of Dora. I turned on her show and started to leave the room to tackle the kitchen. But she looked at me and patted the seat next to her. "Sit," she commanded gently. I looked at that little face, still puffy from sleep, and my to-do list suddenly seemed very trivial. I crawled onto the couch with her and covered us with a soft fleece blanket. She climbed into my lap and, with complete abandon, threw her chubby arms around my neck. As I kissed her hair, (it smelled of sweet apple shampoo), I heard her sigh contentedly.
I knew what she was about to say. But this time I beat her to the punch.
"So happy, Corrie," I sighed.