He is my two-year-old son.

Under his tutelage, I have discovered a new magic and spirituality in everyday life. He has taught me that spirituality is not something elusive but can be part of the mundane.

In my previous life, for example, I awoke most mornings by hitting the snooze bar because I dreaded the new day. Nowadays, he pitter patters to my bedside promptly 6 am each morning and grabs my hand from under the covers.

"Up now!'' he shouts excitedly as he pulls me from bed. Like an army general he issues his orders: "Mama outside!''

I wonder if there is a coffee in the world that can give the boost that spurs such a morning attitude.

Most of his wisdom is culled from the works of Dr. Seuss and a certain purple dinosaur

There was a time, many years ago, when I might have approached life with a similar sense of enthusiasm. But somewhere along the line, I aged too quickly and became too jaded. I began crossing days off of the calendar with disregard. I lingered in bed rather than leaping out.

But my son's optimism makes me think; If a toddler can be so excited about the unforeseen potential of a new day, maybe the sky is the limit for me, too.

I recall rushing through tasks at a marathon pace, oblivious to the people or objects. Now, with my son in tow, even a short trip to the post office or grocery has been transformed. An errand is more like a journey to be savored. He has taught me to examine every flower petal carefully, to marvel at the planes passing overhead and to turn strangers into friends with a simple greeting and toothy smile.

Traipsing through the neighborhood on my son's heels, I am discovering things I never noticed; that even big scary dogs can be friendly, and, if you look close enough, a dandelion is beautiful.

My husband and I no longer breeze through the Sabbath rituals. Instead, we sing aloud and clap our hands. When my son jumps off his chair and dances to the zemiroth, my husband and I join him. Circling our dining room, I see the Shabbat candles dancing and the Sabbath Queen smiling.

My Saturday morning routine has changed. Instead of curling up with a novel and showing up in Shul fashionably late, I arrive earlier. I have no choice since my son hurries me there with cries of "Kiss Torah!''

Even if his primary motivation is to visit our synagogue's candy man, who sits near my husband, I must give him credit; all my parents' prodding never got me to services so early.

Teaching our children the Jewish dos and don'ts is no simple matter. But even more complex is to convey the flavor and texture along with the rituals. Having read parenting books from Dr. Spock to What to Expect, I am aware of the typical parenting concerns -- such as how to get the child to eat healthy foods. But what has worried me most was how to nourish my son's spirit.

Thus far, his spirit seems to be nourishing his parents, who he has inadvertently pushed into observance. He has awakened in us the need to experience life in a deeper way.

Aside from giving us a sense of continuity as our messenger into the future, he has returned our gift.

We gave him the gift of life, but he teaches us how to live.

Thank you, son.

Reprinted with permission from www.jewish-holiday.com.