I can't help feeling that life is perfect and full these days. Perhaps it's the change to fall--one of my favourite seasons. I love snuggling in sweatshirts while it's cool outside, and reading with a cup of tea.
Perhaps it's watching Wiggle Man grow and learn new things every day. He's so smart, it honestly makes me want to laugh with joy. He points to where he wants to go. (Usually outside, towards the chickens or the ducks.) He knows the chickens eat grass, not dirt, and picks some to feed to them. Heck, he can feed it to the chickens by himself now. He knows his yogurt is kept in the fridge, and will point to the fridge when he wants yogurt. He signs "all done" when he's full, waves good-bye when you tell him it's "night nights", and has very definite choices about which book to read before bed-time.
Perhaps it's watching the Phillies kick butt. It's ok--the Phils are only my NL team. If we ever repeated '93, I'd be cheering for the Jays all the way. I sing the Jays' song to taunt Hubba Hubba, and frequently threaten to pull out the commemorative VHS from the '93 Series. Even in inter-league play, for the few games the Jays and Phillies face off, I'm a Jays fan. And I've gotten my fair share of dirty looks at Citizen's Bank Park. But still--it's nice to cheer for the same team as your husband, as long as my loyalties don't conflict.
Maybe there's something fulfilling in being just a little old-fashioned. My clothes are out on the line (a fact that stunned a teenager recently--"you have a clothesline? Cool!") or the fact that I'm attempting to make my own chicken stock as I type this. I love days where I do things the old-fashioned, homemade way. Perhaps I'll bake a pie to top the day off.
Whatever the cause, I'm thankful for the joy that bubbles under the surface. I'd like to tell it to kick off its shoes and stay awhile. Since I know that's not likely, I'll just have to enjoy it while it's here.