snuggling with both (happy) children in bed this morning before getting up
a trip to Target
finding really nice “not recognized by system” sheets that should’ve been salvaged and getting them for $7.49
getting some fresh air
having the energetic, limber, 14-year-old sitter come by to run the childred ragged while I take a nap
someone from church calling to say they have some meals to drop off for me and the kids.
Happiness is not:
nerves deciding to start regenerating in places that still hurt
pushing two kids in a grocery cart, even if only for 20 minutes
having a small boy pounce on me from behind and then declare, “Why you owing? That’s your back, not your belly!”
realizing the coffee I had with my migraine medicine was rather too close to the proposed naptime.
Huge happiness mixed with incredulity is:
following the incredible saga of a long-time internet friend (who is going to kill me when she reads this) who appeared to be suffering from a mysterious disease for the last few months and did, in fact, give birth to a perfectly healthy baby boy a couple of days ago and didn’t know she was pregnant until a couple of hours before he was born.