Delight

Tonight, I'll set all the clocks ahead by an hour before my Magic Bag and I retire to bed, all snug and cozy against the pounding rain. I guess it's spring.

I've never liked spring, really. Half-melted snowbanks, sand-crusted and full of dog shit, do not inspire euphoria, in me, at any rate. Chill rains and grey skies do not lift my spirits as much as a crisp winter sun reflected off endless white snow does, even if the chill rains are tepid and I can leave the house without a shudder of cold. It's cool and dark and rainy here, and I've been feeling a little glum. We stayed in this morning, exhausing our options, and Munchkin settled into a three hour nap during which I actually ran out of things to do.

And then delight: trying to lift my own mood, when she woke up, I presented her with a surprise. New rain boots--a wild pattern of white, fuschia, green, yellow--and, even better, an umbrella. She was astonished. She thanked me over and over and assured me it was the best present anyone ever got her. She dressed as fast as she could and raced downstairs to don last fall's hot pink splash pants and rain jacket. She could hardly sit still as I got her boots on, put her umbrella in her hand.

She clutched that umbrella over her head all the way to Starbucks, splashing "like a duck" in every puddle we passed, quacking maniacally. She was so proud, so silly all at once. Urban pedestrians hunched tight against the rain lifted their heads as she approached, a vision of glee in day-glo nylon and rubber. They smiled.

I smiled too, wrapped up tight in my grey windbreaker, hood up, hands in pockets, a damp cloud in contrast to the brilliant rainbow my daughter streaked across the sidewalk. Suddenly, I wanted my red coat, my chequered scarf, some wild rubber boots of my own. To smile and sing with the joy of new puddles, the freshness of a season returned that was barely remembered.

She had the very best time. On the way home, I let her jump over and over and over in one particularly ferocious puddle. She soaked herself thoroughly and when I dragged her finally into the house, water poured from her boots when I removed them. "Thank you, Mom," she said, snuggling into me as I wrapped her up in a towel and held her close to me. It was as near to perfect happiness as I've ever really experienced as a parent.

What's it about, this post? It's just a little piece of time, really. I want, I guess, to revel in the particularities of my own experience of her delight, my own witnessing of her wee toddler joy, to remember. It's okay, sometimes, I think, to be particular. To just be in a moment. To want to hold it tight to my heart, a very personal bit of sunshine carved into words that I'll share with you, if you want to enjoy them too.