everyday life

Carwash

I was very excited about my stay-in-the-dorms plan for Princeton reunions.  And it turned out to be great, in many ways.  Very convenient, we had our own bathroom (super bonus), and the kids thought it was a huge adventure.  The downside?  We were literally right over the dance floor, which was rocking until well after 2:00 am.  And the light streamed in early (see: aforementioned lack of biblical flooding) so they were up at 6:00.  For children who usually get 12 hours of sleep, 4 was a big difference.  This is all a long way of saying we drove home on Saturday night after the post-P Rade celebrations rather than spending the night.  Whit fell asleep before we hit route 1 and slept until 10am on Sunday.

And then Matt went to the office for most of the day on Sunday and Monday.  What to do with a holiday weekend and no plans?  I like these unscheduled days, but had not thought ahead to, perhaps, sign us up for trapeze.  It was very hot – enough that Whit exclaimed, “I feel like we are still in New Jersey!” when we went outside.  So, after some errands, we went to see Pirates of the Caribbean.  This was my first installment of the series, I confess, and my primary reaction is who knew mermaids were so terrifying?  Yikes.

We got home and the kids had punched the 3D lenses out of their glasses.  Grace has not taken them off since.  The big entertainment before dinner?  Washing the car.  And you would think these two went back to Disney for the utter joy that they felt.  I cooked dinner, occasionally drifting to the front windows to watch them, and they sprayed each other and the car, scrubbed with kitchen sponges, and giggled. They were soaked and happy when I finally asked them to come in, 45 minutes later.

One of my clear priorities as a parent is that my children are easily delighted.  I am proudest of myself as a parent – and of them – in the surprising, unexpected moments of wonder.  And this was one.

How to be happy

Look closely at the sky.  Every day.  Take pictures.

Walk outside no matter what the weather.

Listen to a song on repeat (lately, for me, it’s One Day by Matisyahu but others have been Fix You by Coldplay, Kite by U2, Just Breathe by Pearl Jam, Universal Child by Annie Lennox, and The Story by Brandi Carlile).

Lie in your bed (preferably with all-white sheets) and read, or nap, or just look at the ceiling.

Paint your fingernails a bright color.

Have a friend who can write lists like this for you with your child (their godchild).

Read poetry.  Naomi Shihab Nye, Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard are all good choices.

Write a birthday card to someone you love.  Or any kind of note.  But the real, paper kind.

Sit on the floor and play Guess Who or Blokus with your kids.  Without any distraction.  Just let their joy seep into you.

Cry if you want to.  Maybe hard.  Maybe often.

Use the silver.  Or the china.  Or wear the dress, put on the shoes.  Stop waiting for the right occasion for these things.

Go through your bookshelf, or your closet, and fill a bag for Goodwill.  Take it there.

Sit in the back of a church, or in any place that is sacred for you, and just listen to the silence, to your breathing, to what is and what is not.

Buy fresh flowers for your kitchen.  Peonies and ranunculus are my favorite.

Go out of your way to tell someone something you think is great about them.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a close friend or an acquaintance.  Just tell them, sincerely and authentically, something that you like and admire about them.

Please tell me … what makes you happy, no matter what?

Inspired by Jen Lemen‘s beautiful How to Be Happy Come Hell or Highwater (and, really, by everything she writes)

thank you

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

I thank you god for this most amazing day.

Thank you….

… to the lovely, loving crowds that made my 92 year old grandfather, celebrating his 71st reunion, smile more widely than I’ve ever seen

… to the rain for holding off.  The absence of biblical flooding was unnerving (at the 5th reunion we literally wore trash bags), but in a good, good way.

… to the people who came up to tell me that they read this blog.  I cannot possibly convey how much hearing that means to me.  At all.

… To my friends, who so generously talked to, played pool with, and posed for photographs by (and with) my children.  You are family.

… To the seniors who gave Grace, Thacher, Cade, and Ava a hundred or more high fives as they walked in front of us, leading our class, wearing costumes, holding signs, and demonstrating true spirit and pride.

I’m praying my favorite – and only – prayer tonight (and Meister Eckhart’s):

thank you

Happy birthday to the man nobody believes exists

Last year I wrote a happy birthday post for this guy and received several comments to the effect that people didn’t know I was married.  Well, that’s just one of the lines I draw.  There’s a lot of personal stuff I’m happy to share, but one of the places I’ve decided is off limits is my husband.  From this bloggy world, only Denise has actually spent time with Matt.  So, if you have your doubts, she can vouch for his existence. (extra credit: who can name the bff to the right of Matt in this photo?)

But it’s his birthday again, so I think I can break my own rule just for today … Happy, happy, happy birthday, Matt.  This is the 13th of your birthdays we’ve celebrated together.  That first birthday seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.

You continue to be so many wonderful things, to me, to the two short and loud people who live here, and to your family and friends:

– Surprisingly talented hydrangea gardener

– Generous morning latte maker

– Persistently, annoyingly early riser

– Miraculous blizzard-avoider

– Magnanimous eater of the random all-vegetable meals I create from our CSA box

– One of the best skiiers I’ve ever been on a mountain with

– Patient children’s golf and tennis coach

– Enthusiastic runner behind a new two-wheeler biker

– (Mostly) tolerant extrovert husband of an introvert

– Animated bedtime story reader

– Indulgent listener to long, detailed stories about adventures like trapeze (think “one time? at band camp?”)

– Barbecue enthusiast

– Doppelganger of our son – such that Grace saw a picture of you & your brother at 3 and asked, “why are there two Whits?”

– Undeniable Fun One of this particular marital pair (stuck with perma-crying non-fun moi)

– Husband, father, son, brother, identical twin, godfather, uncle, cousin, friend

Happy birthday, Matt.  As ever, I’m amazed.

Moments of wonder

Last night I folded up a big Target box and put it in the recycling bin.  The box was covered in sharpie words and crayon drawings, and has been a major focus of this house for several days.  As I took it out, noticing that the air is positively swampy with spring as I did so, I thought how thrilled I am that Grace and Whit still find a cardboard box to be a thrilling thing to play with.   The arrival of a big cardboard box is met with celebrating, and provides days of fodder for playing together or alone.  I love this.

It reminded me of the night, a few weeks ago, when I decided to make a chocolate fudge cake that I’d first made for Whit, on his request, last summer.  I surprised the kids with the cake in the morning, and gave them each fat slices for breakfast.  They looked at me, bewildered wonder on their faces, suspecting, I think, that I was going to announce that I was joking and snatch the plates away.  I wasn’t, and I didn’t.  They were thrilled beyond all reason at this tiny surprise.  Grace even told me recently that she had written a “whole page” in her journal at school about this, and I groaned at her that she wasn’t making me look very good in front of her teacher.

I get the same sense of awed pride when I asked Whit recently what his favorite part of spring break was.  He said, without hesitating, “Disney,” but then he went on, “but close after that, our trip to Walden.”  Or when, after a dinner full of rowdy, obnoxious bickering, they calm down, within minutes, when we go for a pajama-clad ‘notice things’ walk.  Furthermore, that they ask, over and over again, for these walks.

I know for sure that this is one of the things I most want to pass on to my children: the propensity for delight, the willingness to be amazed, an openness to the hugeness of small things.  Whether it’s a trait or an inclination I’m not sure; I don’t know that it matters.  I do know, however, that it is one way to assure a life full of joy.  That doesn’t mean there won’t be great sorrow, too.  As far as I can tell they are often twined entirely together.  If there’s one thing I want to do as a mother, it is to help Grace and Whit hold onto their capacity for wonder.

I noticed, as I tried to find a link, that I have more than a few blog posts with “wonder” in the title.  All of a sudden it occurred to me that maybe that’s what this blog is about: the wonder of ordinary life.  The wonder of that design, of which we sometimes glimpse the contours, though never the whole.  The wonder of human relationships, the sky, the turning of the seasons, poetry, the power contained in the light of a day.  The wonder of living in the slipstream of time, whose eddies are both utterly unique and totally universal.  That’s what this blog has been, for almost five years: a record of my moments of wonder, both in their thunderous joy and their swelling sadness.  And a love letter to those two small guides who have shown me the way here.