I didn’t need to laugh. I didn’t even necessarily feel like laughing. After all, I had a headache. I could have just smiled or told her she was creative.
She showed up downstairs, hiding something under a blanket.
“Mommy,” her eye sparkled, “I am going to show you,” she paused, “Something for piggy when it rains.”
She put the bundle on the floor and tried to untangle her blanket. I waited patiently, or semi-patiently. After all, I was in the middle of writing a blog post about her brother for his birthday. I was working on important stuff.
She finally got it all untangled.
“First, I’ll pull off the blanket,” and she whipped it off to show me the Lego house she had built. Red, blue and yellow (because there was no white). “Theeeeeeen, I turn it around…” She spun the house to show me a window with her stuffed piggy peeking out.
“See?” she clapped her hands with delight and laughed loudly.
She had already shown me the house. I had praised her earlier on her construction skills. But now she was showing me it’s usefulness.
I didn’t need to laugh. I didn’t necessarily want to laugh.
But when I looked into those eyes and saw her sparkle…
I didn’t need to laugh.
But she needed me to.
And that makes all the difference in the world.