Drinking Happy Juice called Henry

There’s something so stabilizing and powerful about the mountains of Utah. Walking up rocks holding the hands of four toddlers only to emerge at a breathtaking waterfall, a cool spray on my face, moss-covered rocks…so beautiful.
This morning Henry swung on the pole of my parent’s treadmill and told me he was on the streetcar in New Orleans. He then insisted I carry three buckets up the stairs—one was his hat, one his drum, and the red square one his piano. We came upstairs and he promptly put the box for Mr. Potato Head over his head and said it was his motorcycle helmet. Later, he gazed at himself in the mirror and said, “Santy Claus, where you take our Tristmas Tree? I take it out there and bring it back here, fix it.” He repeated this segment of the Grinch Who Stole Christmas about four times before glancing over his shoulder and smiling at me. He got overtired at Marlise’s house and insisted on wearing four-year-old Zoe’s Little Mermaid nightgown and silky nightcap. I was finally able to get him into his sweats for the ride home, and he dragged five-year-old Watson’s Big Wheel up the driveway and tried to shove it in the car. When I informed him we had to leave it behind and he could ride it tomorrow, he yelled loud enough for the moon to hear. He quieted down when he actually saw the moon and he made a full moon with his little hands. “Look, Mama, full moon!”When we got home, he got a second wind and started chattering about Cinderella’s wicked stepmother and asking me if he could ride in “Ho-Ho’s sleigh.” It was a long journey to sleep–I’m exhausted! But still, so delighted by him and his imagination. Raising kids is like drinking Happy Juice all day long!