over the river and through the woods

My son loves his grandparents' house. He is so self assured here that it almost hurts your heart to watch. He has been walking around the house and picking up knicknacks - sea shells, little ceramic boxes and bowls, matchbox cars, sculptures - and bringing them to me. He will say "Look at this, Mom - isn't it beautiful? Gramma made this for me." He is so sure that everything in this house is for him, was made specially for him by someone who knows him and knows how much he loves sea shells and ceramic boxes and matchbox cars. He feels so personally known, and blessed, and provided for. I wish I could navigate like this more often (read: ever), but I cannot shake my habitual suspicion, inclination towards annoyance, and blindness towards what is small, and beautiful, and because of my love for it, may as well have been made especially for me.