Our day had been a series of simple and mostly unplanned delights. A risky waffle recipe that turned out beautifully. An unexpected visit with the downstairs neighbors. An effortless levity between Robin and me, in which each of us understood the other’s meaning without the need for explanations. Miles taking licks of his Easter bunny’s ear and saying with great enthusiasm between bites, “Mmmm!” The pleasant sourness of the vinegar in the Easter egg dye reminding me of childhood. A spontaneous play date on the sidewalk with two sets of neighbors and their kids, toddlers running and jostling while the adults relaxed and bounced babies and made plans. Let’s all get together again soon! Let’s swap child care! No one wearing coats, all of us thrumming with the optimism of Spring. Miles so completely covered in sidewalk chalk he seemed to be a very short, cherubic rainbow. After dinner, reading Miles books and burying my nose in the sweaty scent of his hair. The three of us tickling and wrestling on the bedroom rug — hugs, love, slobber, raspberries, laughter.
Nothing major happened. Yet there I was at the end of the day, sitting beside the bath, wonderstruck.
This kind of happiness, I think, can’t be forced or summoned. Sometimes the ingredients of ordinary life get jumbled together in just the right way, and I’m wildly grateful.