Worn Knees

I noticed yesterday that the knees on virtually every pair of pants I own are faded and worn.  It took me all of a minute to realize it's from getting down on the floor to play with my Daphne girl every day.  It's from chasing her around on knees so she can run away giggling.  It's from kneeling behind the couch and jumping out to say boo just to hear her scream with delight twenty and thirty times a day.  It's from playing horsie and airplane, from building block towers and coloring at the coffee table.  It's from cleaning up spills after I hear a gasp and an "Uh-oh!."  It's from bending down to her level so she can jump into my arms and jibber-jabber away, showing me exactly what she's been playing with or where she bonked her head.

I rubbed my worn knees fondly and looked at my daughter sitting at my side with a stack of finished books beside us and another waiting to be read.  I'll proudly wear worn out knees if I can always feel this happy.