There are days when I wish I could be a kid again.
No, I don't miss braces or acne or middle school angst, but I do miss something else - that sense of wonder I feel I often overlook in my harried adult world.
The other day, my daughter and I were driving together on a quick errand, and I was giving her the rundown of my commute home - heavy traffic, lots of construction, the guy who cut me off ... you know, things that you try not to take home with you but stick with you for awhile anyway.
I was still annoyed - and more than a little cranky.
She was sitting quietly beside me as we drove along, and she interrupted my rant
"Look!" she said. "Mom ... look at the clouds!"
Startled into silence, I stopped my litany of complaints and looked through the windshield, up into the bright blue sky. A gathering of clouds was billowed together in the distance, silhouetted against the the horizon in thick, soft layers.
"They're beautiful," she breathed.
She was right - they were. And I hadn't even noticed.
I'll try not to make that mistake again.