We were off to a rough start in the Katzmann house. It was nearly impossible to get my seven-year-old granddaughter, Madison, out the door for school. She didn’t want to get out of bed. She didn’t like the shirt I picked out. The uniform skirt didn’t feel good. She didn’t want to wear those shoes. By the time I got her into the car, she was on the verge of a full-scale meltdown. “Madison,” I said. “I know you’re very tired, but try to put a smile on your face. Remember how much fun we had at Disneyland?”
Maybe it was too much fun. For Madison’s birthday, we’d taken her and her best friend to Disneyland. The weather was perfect but the lines weren’t too bad. The girls had a ball. They rode every ride of their choice—Alice in Wonderland, It’s a Small World, the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean and many more. Madison even got to visit with Goofy and get his autograph. We got home well after her usual bedtime, but I wasn’t expecting Madison’s dramatic performance the following morning. Was it too much to ask for a smile?
I didn’t want to drop her off at school throwing a tantrum. I thought she’d be happy to tell all her school friends about the magical time she had at Disneyland, but instead she sat in the back seat, sobbing. I took a deep breath, tried to reason with her. Nothing worked. I was tired too, frustrated and hadn’t had my coffee yet. Frowns all around.
Suddenly the crying stopped and Madison gasped. Reluctantly, I glanced in the rearview mirror. What could possibly have gone wrong now?
“Grandma! Look what I found!” she squealed.
Madison held it up for me to see. A little pink candy heart with red lettering. It must have been a stray from her school’s Valentine’s Day party. “What does it say?” I asked.
“Smile!” she said.
Madison popped the candy into her mouth and we both did exactly that.
