It just feels right.

"Okay, let me see you," he said, holding his little camcorder. We were in a gift shop, surrounded by children scurring around with glee and parents who looked frazzled but happy, all to a very familiar soundtrack which was piped in from the ceiling.

We were in Disneyland. Just for the weekend. And I had run into the gift shop (one of a thousand on Disney's Main Street) on a whim and scrambled to the floor-to-ceiling display of mickey mouse ears; the felt ones, the old-school kind.

I snatched a child-sized blue pair with their floppy plastic mouse ears and propped it jauntily on my head, stretching that cheap (and dangerous) little elastic band around my chin to secure it. My heart immediately swelled a half-size.

I looked up to find Jim pointing his tiny video camera at me, smiling with his eyes, sun pouring in the shop all around him like some sort of beam of happiness. He looked golden. I felt golden. The moment crystallized.

"Can you see how cute you look right now?" he said.

I looked around the store. No mirrors. Was that possible? Ah, well.

I patted my head with satisfaction and grinned back at him from the very center of my inner 5-year old self.

"No," I said, "But it just feels right."