#choosehappy

(I figured out how to post on the new blog site!  Thanks to Cindy T. whose emails and patience made me a #happyblogger! ) 

How do you find your happiness?  I don’t mean when you are truly, truly sad, and need to really just feel sadness.    Because sometimes sad is just where it’s at, and thank God for friends and family and home and church and those who can love you through it, right?  Right.  Seriously, right? 

I mean on those days when you (okay, I’m talking about me) feel grumpy or negative.  When a bad day is just a bad day and you can’t get out of it and you know (okay, me again) it might be reflecting onto those around you.  And the people around me are likely my husband, my kiddos, and my best friends.

Do you actively seek it, like you would look for a lost set of keys?   “Where DID I put my happiness, darn it?  I had it this morning, but I can’t find it anywhere.”   

Do you Google it?  And if you do, what do you Google?  One result under the search for “happiness” leads you to "The Happiness Project," a website founded by Gretchen Rubin.  Flush with ideas, projects, books, calendars, and quotes, even the website has a distinctly happy feel.  It’s all bright yellow and light blue (my fave) and friendly and welcoming. . . here it is: 

www.happiness-project.com/

I loved it when I stumbled upon it.  And make no mistake about it.  I now receive happiness quotes in my inbox, and follow Gretchen on Facebook and Twitter.  I’m no fool-- if happiness falls into my lap, who am I to ignore it?

For the record, I’m a generally happy person.  Nearly every day, almost all the time.   But every now and then, a problem occurs, or a worry gets into my head or my heart that will drag me down and make me gloomy.  I can get into a mood, lose sleep and carry these funky moods around for days at a time.  I’m going to bet that happens to most people every now and again.  I’m just saying.

#moms

#carrystress

#needamassage

[Sidenote:  My kids just LOVE (#sarcasm) it when I use hashtags.  Especially when I actually say the word “hashtag” like, “Can you go clean your room, please, or I’m going to hashtag throwawayallyourclothes.”]

Weirdly, that whole paragraph brought me a lot of happiness. #unexpectedhappinesssurprise

Still, sometimes funky feelings work their way into the heart and aren’t easily dislodged.  I do find that I try to move them out by reading things like lovely websites and uplifting quotes.  Not to think that I will find the answer in an inspirational essay, but perhaps that happier things will fill up the space in my brain.

And I pray when I’m glum.  A lot.  But I never exactly know what to pray for, so I usually ask that God lift the burden of these worries and that He will give me strength to deal with my problems correctly.

#talkwithGodinmyhead

#thatisprayer

I sleep so much better after those chats.  And I wake feeling better.  But it’s not until later in the day, or sometimes days later, that I realize “Hey! I think God helped me with this.”  I’m never meaning to be ungrateful or unobservant.  I think, in the moment, I’m seriously overtired, and then I’m always so happy to see God at work in my life.  

Happy.  Happy to see God at work in my life.  #obvious

Maybe it’s not a matter of having to seek happiness when I’m down, it’s a matter of choosing what’s already there.  

And as I write this, I look up from my keyboard and see this on my desk.

So it’s been there all along.  The candle.  The message.  The happiness.

#duh

#anditsmellsgreat

#Godisfunny

Check out that website I found- you will like it.  And if you get into a bad mood (and again, I mean me) just remember, you’re never too far from the happiness that’s been there all along.  

The one I've been afraid to write.

Originally posted by CC-Mom at 5/6/2013 9:28 AM

Old House, New House, Tried House, True House. . . 

and, my Baby Boy is Going to College.

It’s one of those things that’s creeping up on me, even after I’ve been anticipating its arrival for so long.  We are about to move into a new house, just a mile away, down the same main road in town, past the same trees and streets and houses that I’ve known for nearly seventeen years.  Our new home is nearly ready to welcome us.  We have worked to make it feel like home for ourselves, and for our children.  It is my only hope that this is the home our children come back to, with their friends, their families, their children.  I envision giant, warm holidays here, filled with lots of people, crazy noise, and favorite foods.  Cars in the driveway, children in every bed, the home we have dreamed of for so long.  I love this home already, even as I have loved the home where we now live. 

We have done much to prepare our “old” home for our departure.  She is freshened with new carpet and refinished floors, some new paint, and very tidied rooms.  Our photos are removed, and our rooms seem a little bare, but we are getting ready for the move, and getting our home ready for her new owners, who will care for her and love her as we did. 

“It’s changing months too early,” said my son, a few weeks ago.  My son, who will go to college in the fall, is experiencing all of this change at once.

“Yes,” I said.  “It’s all changing too early,” thinking of how my house has changed, and how my son has changed, growing into a young man, readying himself to go without even realizing.  He, who has said time and time again that the new house represents his move to college, has no idea that he is speaking about himself.  Or does he?  Does he know that “too early” is such an understatement for how I feel about him leaving?  

“It feels like you don’t love this house anymore,” he said.  I feel my heart break.

“Oh,” I said.  “You have no idea.  I love everything about this house.  I love every single thing about it and everything that has happened here.  Children grew here, babies were born here.   But you, actually, were not.  When we moved away from our Baltimore house, it was hard, but it was ok.  In the end, all those memories came with us, and we ended up here, where we love.  Nothing important ever gets left behind.”

I watched him nod, taking it in.  Did he get it?  Did he hear that I could not love him anymore without growing another heart?   No matter what walls would hold him, or how many miles would stretch between our new house and the college he chose, or the fact that the new home wasn’t quite the same, the love would always be constant.  

Our current house has held us through seventeen Christmases and that many birthdays multiplied by the five of us.  Through sicknesses and joy.  It has grown and changed with us, it has weathered the decorating styles of the eighties and nineties, and someone will look back upon it someday and lament how it looks now, which happens to be beautiful.  It has seen dinner parties, friends, sleepovers, tears, laughter, anger and dancing.  Singing in the showers and tap dancing in the kitchen.  There have been slammed doors and loud music, parties, messes, minimal disasters, and major fun.  Thirteen dance recitals, and thousands of baseball games, and the muddy cleats that go with them.  In the front garden, there is a strong Jonathan apple tree, planted when Jono was born.  I will take a sprig to the new house, even though it has always attracted far too many bees.  We will take our peonies from Adam’s parents, and we will take the growth chart from the mud room wall.  (I’m not sure how yet, but I’m working on it.) I find myself taking photos of views from every angle from every window— this surprises me, but I am allowing myself to feel and do whatever makes me feel comfortable about all of this change.

My house, and my boy, don’t look or behave quite the same as they did a few months ago.  It’s sneaking up on me.

Just a few short weeks later, I feel a bit of settling, in both the new house and in my son.  Bricks have been placed in the front porch.  Paint is on the walls.   The college decision has been made, and his stress level has noticeably lessened.  He is enjoying the last days of his senior year, and each day we are seeing him become more and more ready to face the world.  Are we? 

“You know,” I said, “maybe you can take comfort in the fact that we’re all going through some changes at the same time.”  I wonder who it is I am trying to convince with my words, this time.  We are at the new house, walking around, getting to know the place a little bit, together.   In the past, he has seemed uncomfortable here, quick to leave, anxious to get home or on to other things. 

“Maybe,” he said.  “I’m going up to my room.”  He turned away from me and took the stairs, two at a time.

I did what I needed to do downstairs, measuring things, checking carpet samples, before I headed up the tarp-covered stairs into the unfinished bedroom down the hall.  He was there, alone, curled up on the unpainted window seat.  His shoes were kicked off on the floor, and he was reading something on his phone.

“Watcha doin’?” I asked.

“Just taking a nap in my room.”

“Ah.”

I stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment.  I liked seeing him in the room, a little more relaxed in his skin, more at peace in his new space, a little less resistant to the change.  I pray for these small bits of peaceful change as fall approaches and he makes his way, with baby steps, into a smaller dorm room, but into the bigger world out there.

I couldn’t count the blessings that are falling around me right now if I tried, but there’s no denying that there are many changes happening at once.   While the smallest things can make our own lovely house feel less familiar, and our new house feel more like home, I’m not sure what could ever make this boy feel less mine, no matter how much of a man he tries to turn into, no matter what tiny, necessary little steps I see him take toward his next journey.   

And then I realized.  He does not have to feel less mine.  I just have to let him go. 

So boxes and furniture will move, to the new house, and to the dorm.  And in the mad rush of it all, something may be forgotten, but nothing important.  Memories move.  Love moves.  And soon enough, my boy will be back to curl up on his window seat and take a nap.  At home.

I had a meeting.

Originally posted by CC-Mom at 2/21/2013 12:04 PM

It's the battle cry of every mom, every woman, every church volunteer.  Another meeting? I have a meeting!  Let's have a committee meeting!  Shall we meet at Panera?  But every now and again, and perhaps more often than we realize, something other than the meeting is occurring.

Yesterday, a church council meeting was on my evening calendar. During the day, I was cleaning the basement for our upcoming move and caring for a 5th grader who was "sick" on my couch.  Adam was out of town, Jono would have baseball practice, and Abby would have dance after school.  I needed to prepare for the Bible study that is incorporated into our council meetings.  I desperately needed a shower.  

I did not attend the Music Board meeting on Tuesday, due to a High School orchestra concert and a meeting for Jono's NY class trip. On Monday, I skipped Book Club to pack boxes.   Meetings.  I have meetings.  For me, they often all fall in the third week of the month, and by the end of that week, I am apt to cancel everything on my schedule and crawl into bed and watch "Survivor" on TiVo.  

Church council is an especially good meeting, and I like it.  I have never tired of serving in this area, and I look forward to these particular meetings.  But on this day, I arrived a little scattered.  My tooth was a little achy, my Bible study was printed and read, but not as prepped as usual.  I was, admittedly, a little cranky. 

I picked up my friend Beth on the way, and we were able to get in a few good moments to talk before the meeting— ah, a bonus— I could feel my spirit starting to fill even before I walked in the door.  I began to realize that I was no longer scurrying around my house.  I was sitting in my car, the snow was falling, it was dark and peaceful. 

We arrived at church together, sat together, prayed together during the opening of the meeting.

During the opening prayer, again I realized. . . I am still.  I am at a meeting, I am not running.  I am here for a purpose.  I am quiet.  I can just do this and only this for as long as it takes.

It was a longer than usual meeting, but I didn't mind at all.   People had prepared presentations to view and documents to review.  While I was having a busy day, so were they, and I owed them my time and my attention, but at the same time, those moments felt like a gift.  Their work was good and interesting.  The Bible study was enlightening .  The peace at the end of the day was welcome.

And it was a meeting.

I had a meeting.  With thoughtful, present, caring, devoted people beside me, it no longer felt like an event on my calendar.   It felt like I was doing God's work, with the dark peace of the evening outside, with my friend beside me and my church leaders around me. 

I had a meeting. 

Amen.

Twas the night.

Originally posted by CC-Mom at 12/24/2012 11:27 AM

This morning (Christmas Eve, my favorite day of the year!) I found myself thinking of two very different readings.   This blog post is taken from  Luke 2: 1-20 and "Twas the Night Before Christmas" by Clement Clarke Moore.   I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

. . . While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

. . . And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear. . .

. . . But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." 

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. . .

. . . Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,   "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.

. . . all who heard it were amazed.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.