When someone says that the sound they love most is the laughter of a child you can practically hear eyeballs rolling up into people’s heads all over America. And yet, if you live with a young child you realize how hard it is being a kid. Not an hour goes by without several moments of intense frustration and/or tears. I’ll be out and about, rolling Jackson around in his stroller, and inevitably someone will say, “Boy, that’s the life,” to which I sometimes reply (it depends on how irritable I am at that moment), “Yeah, except that he can’t choose what he wears, what he eats, when he goes to bed, or who his friends are.” In fact, long periods of time go by during which I simply need Jackson to be compliant enough to let me move him from one seated position to another. So when dad comes home and bathtime rolls around and it’s time to play I’m Gonna Get You! and he’s giggling so hard he can’t walk and then he can’t wriggle away fast enough to escape daddy blowing big belly farts on his tummy, well, yeah, the sound of him laughing sets my heart on fire.
That and a hot rod shirt and new Keds.