I'm a married 32 year old mother of two and I drive a 10 year old Ford Focus. Getting from Point A to Point B, safely, is usually my one and only objective when I drive. But, one night, when I was returning home with the kids, I couldn't help but remember something my dad used to do for fun when I was growing up.
We have a long driveway. Once in a while, to get a squeal out of us, he would race up the driveway quickly in whatever car we were are all in, brake, and then pull into our small driveway faster than usual. Now, don't worry, this isn't 80 MPH we're talking about, probably just 10 MPH faster than the usual crawl up the driveway (my main assurance to you is that it's perfectly safe. I'm not being risky.)
Per my usual ways with the kids, I pretended our car was doing it on her own accord. Yes, her. Her name is Myrtle. I said: "Woah, Myrtle! Stop being so crazy! This isn't a racetrack. You're Myrtle, not Lightning McMyrtle!" and so on and so forth.
The kids were doubled over with laughter. I was laughing, too. They knew it was me, controlling the car, but they played along.
If that's not evidence of finding joy in the simple things, then I don't know what is.
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