Thursday, April 23, 2009

Happiness sneaks in

Moments where happiness sneaks in.

Erin, playing with worms. Watching them wiggle in her hand. She wants me to hold them too. Try to hide my aversion.

Lollipops on the front step. Erin's hands still showing traces of worm remains after I convinced her to put them down in the grass. Listening to her "mmm" over a strawberry lollipop.

We decide to call Daddy and tell him about the worms. She talks on the phone for the first time. Barks into it, "Daddy! Worms!" and hands the phone back to me to translate. I hold the phone up to her ear, and when she hears his voice, her eyes brighten. I think she gets it. Then she holds the phone and looks at it, saying, "Want to see Daddy!"

After dinner, surprise kids for the quick and non-complaining clean up that afternoon. Make microwave one-serving brownie and split it three ways, topped with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream and a cherry. Shane didn't want any.

Lying in bed with Lanie after reading part of the Little House series. Talking about favorite parts of the day. Hers: me. Mine: brownies and ice cream. Hers: (changed) brownies and ice cream! She asks about heaven and says, "Will I have to say I'm sorry?"

"Are you sorry about things?" I ask. She nods yes. "Then tell Him now," I whisper. Cuddles in fading light and an easier happiness about Lanie.

Erin waits in bed for me. "Cuddle Mama!" she says when she sees me. She hands me a pillow and climbs into my arms.

It was just another day at home with stuff to do like laundry, picking up, fixing dinner, cleaning dishes. But so warming to see the glints and speckles of happiness woven throughout the day. To think I could have missed it.

2 comments:

Chocolate, Vanilla and Caramel said...

That's what I find motherhood is all about. The little glistening moments of happiness in the midst of the mundane.

Courtney said...

It was maybe the next day when I was schooling with Lanie that Erin crammed a few too many goldfish crackers in her mouth and started to choke. She wasn't able to work it out and I just called out "Jesus, help me!" as I scooped her up and tried to force it out through thrusts. She cried when she got it out, and I held her close and breathed her in. I was so acutely aware of how that instant of holding her warm, living body in my arms could have been a mourning desire. I hope I never, ever take moments for granted.