to be fascinated

It's interesting how the children who keep me tied to the house for naps, tangled up in mundane, routine things, are the same children who help make the rest of the world feel less distant.  Look at the birds on the wire, they say, do you see all the snow melting, can we count all the red cars in the parking lot?

They stick out their tongues and help me remember what snow tastes like.  They notice the late afternoon sunshine rug in the dining room and demand to sit right there, right then, and read books.  They choose the book about children around the world.

When I crave culture and not the carpool lane, they remind me not to worry about being fascinating, but to be fascinated.  They remind me how amazing it is that we exist at all, show me that none of us need anyone’s permission to feel fabulous except our own.