happiness 365

When Lily peeked through the blinds this morning and saw the dusting of snow we got last night, her squeal could be heard in China.

She immediately begged her dad to take her outside. He convinced her to change out of her jammies, and they set out a few minutes later. Lily scraped together as much snow as her little hands could hold and flung it up in the air. Glee.

The girls and I went back outside later in the morning after Sophie’s doctor’s appointment (at which we got to return the nubulizer thank heavens), and Lily managed to have a total blast in a quarter of an inch of snow.

Sophie watched while I snacked on her cheeks.

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This week has been rough.

On Tuesday morning Sophie woke with a runny nose and cough. By Wednesday, she was diagnosed with a double ear infection. And today? RSV.

Her breathing is wheezy, and you can see how she’s compensating by using her belly. Her doctor says that she’s on the good end of the not-breathing-well scale, but all this still scares the crap out of me. I can handle the vomit, the ear infections, the sleepless nights, the diarrhea in her hair. But when she can’t breathe well? My heart lodges up in my throat. I don’t care how minor the doctor tries to convince me it is. Doesn’t he know that I creep into both of my daughters’ rooms every single night to listen to them breathe and will probably still be doing so when they’re teenagers?

So finding happiness lately hasn’t been easy. Sophie has had more sick than healthy days this winter, and Lily picks up just enough of the crud to keep us on our toes. I want my babies to get well and stay well. For more than three days.

But these happiness posts are an exercise in gratitude, an acknowledgement that no matter how bad a day I’ve had, there’s always something that can put a smile on my face. Happiness is simple. You just have to keep your eyes open, right?

Today, my happiness came in the form of a cup of frozen yogurt with a pink spoon. Three flavors, because I can never choose just one (red velvet, peanut butter and cookies-and-cream FTW).

Hanging with Marc on the couch with dessert in hand and a loaded DVR is pretty much perfection.

Especially after a week like this one.

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I totally meant to take a picture of our lunch today, but I forgot. I was too busy talking my sister’s ear off and helping wrangle her two-year-old. And laughing. Always laughing with Laura.

Every year since I can’t remember when, we’ve gotten together at a certain local (beloved) restaurant for a Valentine’s Day meal of piping hot chili smothered with cheese, salsa and sour cream. The best is when the tortilla chips buried under the chili get all soggy. And yum.

We’ve been coming to this restaurant for years. So long that we’ve sort of become regulars, and we giggle like school girls when the restaurant’s owner recognizes us and says hello. On one such Valentine’s Day date years ago, he came over to our table for a chat. We thought we’d reached the pinnacle of coolness.

Until I opened my mouth.

It’s difficult (oh so difficult) to describe exactly what happened, because I am still confused to this day over how I managed to pull this one off.

It started with him saying something like, “Happy Valentine’s Day, you two” and me replying with one gigantic run-on sentence that went something like, “Oh thanks we come here all the time it’s one of our favorite spots and we just love having our Valentine date here every year.” And then he asked something about how long we’d been together, and I — clearly not hearing/understanding the question because I was so elated that the man himself was chatting with us super-cool restaurant regulars — answered him with a year count. At which point Laura’s brow furrowed in confusion. And then I kept babbling and he sort of backed away from the table very slowly, saying something like, “Well, we don’t discriminate, especially on Valentine’s Day.”

And Laura looked at me like I’d just stripped naked right there in the middle of the restaurant and said — choking on a laugh — “you know he thinks we’re a lesbian couple, right?”

Um. What?

Yes, friends. I thought I was regaling him with an impassioned story about how close Laura and I are as sisters and how much we enjoy his restaurant. But instead, I made us lovers.

And we’ve never bothered to clear it up, even though we go back there year after year. Because it’s just too funny.

*A note, because I’m always worried about offending someone with my blog: This post in NO way is making fun of homosexuality. I fully support love in any form or fashion. What I’m poking fun at here, simply, is myself.

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We were trying to make these sweet heart-shaped sun-catchers from my friend Jennifer’s blog. And then shaving the crayons nearly gave me blisters and Lily scattered crayon bits all over the floor and I over-ironed our masterpiece causing it to look like a big puddle of blood. Nothing says Happy Valentine’s Day like a gruesome bloody heart hanging in your window, right?

Note to self: follow directions more carefully next time.

But Lily and I had fun. We always do.

Better luck next time, right?

I thought the colors in these pictures were pretty. And they make me happy. (Speaking of color, have you seen the brilliant new Target campaign, “color changes everything”? So clever and fun. I found myself grinning at the TV instead of hitting fast-forward on the DVR.)

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