In January 2025, Rosalie was diagnosed with Leukemia and our world was turned upside down. She was immediately admitted to the children's hospital. Since then, we've spent more time there than at home. The weight of the diagnosis has taken a toll on all of us -- joy has been harder to find. But every Monday, something special happens: the Happy Wheels cart rolls to Rosalie's room. No matter how she's feeling, the sight of that cart is enough to lift her spirits. When she is weak and grumpy, Happy Wheels still manages to get her out of bed. She walks toward their cart, her eyes lighting up, her smile returning, if only for a few minutes.

The volunteers who brought the cart don't know how much their small gesture means to us. To Rosalie, Happy Wheels isn't just a distraction-it's a chance to feel normal again. It's a reminder that joy still exists, even in the hardest of times.

We've spent months in the hospital since Rosalie's diagnosis. Her life, our lives, have been turned upside down-her schooling, my job, and my son's routine. It's been hard. But Happy Wheels has given Rosalie something to look forward to, a brief moment where she could just be a kid again.

For me, watching Rosalie walk toward that cart, when nothing else could get her out of bed, will stay with me forever. It's a reminder of the power of small acts of kindness. Happy Wheels may seem simple to the outside world, but to us, it's a beacon of joy, a spark of hope during a time of uncertainty.

We love Happy Wheels. It's more than a cart of toys-it's a symbol of the magic that can still be found, even in the darkest days.