Wobbling for joy

When I was in high school, I used to babysit a little girl named Jessica.

Jessica was a quiet child — didn’t fuss, didn’t yell, didn’t whine, didn’t do much of anything except wander around the house, clutching her little blanket and looking sweet. When she got tired, Jessica would lay that blanket on the floor, lie down on it, and go to sleep for three hours at a whack. The hardest thing about babysitting her was remembering where she’d crashed so I didn’t trip over her.

When Jessica got very excited about something, she didn’t squeal or shout or chatter. She just put her arms down at her sides and wobbled gleefully from side to side, as if she simply couldn’t contain her joy for another instant.

Jessica will get to vote in the presidential election this fall. But no matter how grown-up she gets, I will always remember her at age 2, clutching a sippy cup and wobbling because she’d just found out I’d come over to play with her. (If you’ve ever had a 2-year-old wobble with joy at the prospect of spending an afternoon hanging out with you, then you don’t need me to tell you what love is.)

I mention this today because I always think of Jessica on days like this.

It’s 62 degrees this afternoon in Red Fork. The chickens are cooing happily to themselves, the bees are zipping in and out of the hive, and the dogs are taking it easy after a busy morning spent bouncing around the backyard in pursuit of a pair of worn-out racquetballs.

And me? Well, I’m just wobbling.

Hope you’re having a happy, silly, wobbly sort of weekend, wherever you are. 🙂