I wasn’t feeling very well yesterday. Wil had just gotten over the flu, and I believe a lesser degree of his illness hit my system yesterday. Other than going to work in the morning, and taking Katherine and Elizabeth on a few errands, I laid low and got as much sleep as I could. I decided to sleep in this morning, and Matt had long left before I woke up.
I could smell the coffee in the kitchen when I woke up. It smelled good, so that was a good sign. I could hardly drink any yesterday with the nausea.
It was still dark in our house, as I padded from my bedroom toward the kitchen. Katherine, Elizabeth and Wil were still sleeping. I walked by Woody, curled up in his bed on the living room floor. He didn’t lift his head, but his tail, extending the outskirts of his round bed, gently and rhythmically tapped the hardwood floor. I bent down and gave him a pet.
I made my way into the kitchen, and poured myself a cup of coffee, then turned the desk light on just above the Lazy boy chair. I nestled in the chair with a book. My New Year’s resolution has been to stay off of any media first thing in the morning and read something that will improve my life. Twenty days in, just one more day to cement the habit.
Soon I heard Wil rustling in his bed. He got up and must have seen the desk light in the living room. He walked toward the doorway in his room, and leaned to peer out of it. As soon as he saw me, he quickly stood back upright and shut his door. Privacy has been a big deal lately.
A few minutes later, he emerged fully dressed in a button-up collared shirt and pants.
“Going somewhere special today, Wil?” I asked.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Buddy.”
He walked over and climbed up in the chair with me.
“You are squishing me, Mom.”
“Hey, I was here first, you stinker. I think it’s you that is squishing me.”
“Ohhh, Mom. You are being silly.”
Hearing his string of words must be how an elementary music teacher feels when the choir comes together in harmony. Hours of practice, working for the notes to come together–to click. Wil used to say “you be silly Mom.” Now, the combination of “You are being silly” strung together in perfect harmony to this mother’s ears.
“Breakfast now, Mom.”
“Ok, let’s have your pill first.”
Wil takes a thyroid pill every morning in a spoonful of peanut butter. He has since he was six months old. He first took his pill in applesauce. Then at some point, he decided peanut butter was a better choice.
“Do you want to get out the peanut butter this morning, or me?” I asked him. Along with privacy, his independence was flourishing.
“I get the peanut butter.”
After I scooped up peanut butter on his spoon, and sunk the pill into it, I held it up to his mouth. His independence may be growing, but with his pill he still loves the game of “open the tunnel.”
He took the spoon, and I said open the tunnel, and he swallowed down his pill.
“Mom, guess what. I’m a choo-choo train!” And he started taking straight-legged, tiny steps around the kitchen island. His arms were bent at 90 degrees, making short, choppy swings.
“Mom, you do it with me!” I fell in straight-legged, tiny steps behind Wil and we choo-chooed around the kitchen island.
Once we made it full circle he laughed then said, “Ok, done now.”
He helped me make his breakfast sandwiches. Then he grabbed his plate and walked downstairs to watch Sofia the First on Netflix. I don’t know why, but he only watches that show while he eats. When he’s done eating, he’s done watching and moves on to something else to play with. I went back to reading in the Lazy Boy.
When Wil came upstairs after eating his breakfast, the sun was rising and warm on the window in the living room. He leaned his back up against the glass and said, “Ahhhh warm. It’s a beautiful day, Mom.”
“Yes, it is. Elizabeth has basketball practice this morning, but when she gets back, let’s go outside.”
“Ok, Mom.”
Wil walked off to his room, and put his favorite Luke Bryan CD in his CD player. He started singing at the top of his lungs. I started singing with him.
“No, Mom! Just me this time!” (I again heard the harmony with the addition of “this time” when he used to say, “Just me!” )
“Oh, geez, fine whatever. You never let me have any fun.”
“Oh, Mom, you are being silly.”
I gave him a hug and went back to my book. He restarted the song because clearly I messed up his groove. But I still belted out the choir with him from my chair in the living room because I just couldn’t help myself.
Yesterday, I did not feel well, and you never appreciate feeling good more than when you don’t. I was also living up to my resolution, and well on my way to forming a habit. My dog greeted me with the whap of his tail to start the day, and my son and I had already choo-chooed around the kitchen. When Katherine and Elizabeth woke up, I would surely annoy them with my great enthusiasm for the day (it’s so fun to annoy teenagers).
I don’t believe happiness is this big, elusive thing that we wait for to come to us. I don’t believe happiness is merely positive thinking. Happiness is positively doing. Happiness is positively seeking. Happiness is found and taken in lots of small doses that add up. Happiness is choo-chooing around the island rather than grumbling over a daily pill. Happiness is taking note of the sun through the window, leaning into its warmth and soaking it in. Happiness is hearing a harmony in a string of words. Happiness is singing at the top of your lungs because your son’s joy is downright contagious. Happiness doesn’t find us, we find it – in what we do, see, say, sing, and feel.
