Bubbles

I’m amazed by the simple pleasures that never fail to entertain my children: stickers, coloring, and bubbles. For all of the fancy, complicated, high-tech or trendy toys they have, there is nothing in the toy box that can compete with this triad of irresistible entertainment.

Over the weekend, when they were both going stir crazy inside and starting to turn on each other, I gave up trying to set them up with projects or games, grabbed the bubble blowing hippopotamus that has become their latest addiction, and headed out back. Within minutes, squawks had turned to squeals of laughter, and sisterly competition had turned to shared glee. What is it about chasing a trail of bubbles across a yard that can bring such instant bliss? Even the dog loves the bubble machine, trying to catch each iridescent ball with such reckless abandon that I feared for his safety.

While the girls screeched and spun, basking in the puffs of bubbles spewing from the hippo’s mouth, I vaguely remembered a time when such simple things could make me so happy, too. These days, it’s a little hard to block out all of the chores and responsibilities to feel that sense of pure joy, but when I’m with my girls, watching them laugh and run together, I get pretty close.