My kids were so happy to get out of the house today that they didn't even groan about going to Costco.
Yancey's been really busy with house projects this week, and I was totally flattened by what turned out to be strep. Three days of misery before I finally went to the doctor. Thank God for antibiotics. Wyatt and Loretta have been so sweet--playing and sharing with each other, getting their own snacks, bringing me water. Loretta's really taken with this idea that I shouldn't be kissing her right now, and dramatically hugging my legs or patting my back at arm's length.
When I want to get on their good side, I take them out for teriyaki. We were planning on getting it to go (the dreaded Costco trip over), but they said they wanted to stay. We went to I Luv Teriyaki on Michigan and 4th, one of the many teriyaki joints in Georgetown. Like any teriyaki place worth its salt, they had a giant dispenser of hot tea and more chicken per order than any sane person can eat. Loretta said, in her can't-say-my-R's-voice, "Mom, thanks for taking us here. I like what they serve here." And Wyatt said, several times, "This is so good. Thanks, Mom." We talked about which country covers the most square miles (Russia! Duh!), how the hot tea warmed our hands through the cups, and how I hope they don't get sick, too. Piddly, normal little things that are such a privilege to talk about.
I read this from the poet Jane Hirschfield this morning:
It was like this:
You were happy, then you were sad,
Then happy again, then not.
There's a lot of hoopla about Happiness lately--how to get it, how to have more of it. We're supposed to get more sleep, spend less time online, eat better, keep a gratitude journal. I'm a proponent of all that stuff, but what it misses is that, sometimes, we'll just be sad. There's no way around it. And I think, if we don't notice when we're sad and sit with it, we'll have a harder time noticing when we're happy. Today, in the red plastic booth with gyoza sauce dripping everywhere, I was happy.