Ten Steps to a Smile (or, how to light your house for nearly free)

So you're heading through the kitchen to the stairs with a bucket of diapers over one arm and a laundry hamper in the other, when he jumps past the top step and skids to a stop in front of you.

Mama, do you want to see what I made?

Step One: Stop walking. Don't slowly inch your way past him as he begins talking.

Step Two: Say Yes, of course!

Step Three: Listen as he describes his newest creation. (No, don't think about the washer beginning to agitate. Stop it! Pull your eyes back to his. There. Amber-hued hope. You hold his heart in your hands.)

Step Four: Ask questions. If you look closely at what he holds, it will lead you... What does the blue section do? How come there are two handles?

Step Five: Put down the bucket and hamper. You need your hands free for step six.

Step Six: Tuck the butt of that lego rifle into your armpit and squint through the plastic yellow sight. Aim up. Aim down.

Step Seven: Now let him show you how you're supposed to hold it. Say, Oh, I thought that didn't feel right!

Step Eight: Forget to listen to him talking, getting distracted by that cowlick and that jawline and that faint, soft, white fuzz on his upper lip.

Step Nine: Resist the urge to squeeze the living daylights out of him and gently steal your arm around his ever-widening shoulders.

Step Ten: Tell him you think his rifle is amazing.

Now find a way to plug that boy into a wall, 'cause his smile is going to light your entire house. I said it was nearly free. It cost you a cycle on the washer. It cost you ninety extra seconds in which you could have walked down the stairs and begun stuffing one machine and emptying another.

I'm beginning to feel as if I'd like to pay that small fee any old day. 'Cause they're getting shorter.

Won't you be a blessing to a boy this weekend?