Gratitude

My dad asked me the other day, "Are you going to do any more writing on your blog?"

And it reminded me that I've been thinking now and then of reviving it. I've been relying too much on Facebook, but that's a really different animal. Facebook doesn't lend itself to writing stories. And I'm really hyper-aware on Facebook that I don't want to overload my feed with "happy family" stuff. I don't really like reading those kinds of posts, and I have a feeling I'm not alone.

But at the same time, I've been feeling a real need to write down the moments of joy and gratitude, because otherwise it can all get washed away by that beaten-down feeling. That feeling you get when the kids won't stop shrieking, or hitting, or scratching, or whining, or biting, or rejecting food, or, or, or...

Also, after recently interviewing a single mom of triplet 17-year-olds, two of whom have serious autism, I realized it's just dumb to feel sorry for myself.


So here are five recent moments of joy that I don't want to forget:

1) Oliver at bedtime piling all of his blankets and stuffed animals and pillows in a massive pile on the floor, then getting in the middle and telling me, "Okay, we're going to play a tiny game. I'll be the lava, and you're the deer trying to get away from the volcano erupting."

2) Ezra at bedtime putting his head on my belly, and then climbing into my lap as I sang songs to him. In comparison to other six-year-olds, he's small, but in comparison to the tiny 5 lb 4 oz baby he used to be, he's enormous. So it's such a pleasure to have him curl up in my lap, made bittersweet by the fact that he won't always want to do that.

3) Being told by Ezra's first-grade teacher at his parent-teacher conference that he loves to read and is often secretly reading a book at his desk during class.

4) Walking down the hill with Oliver to the bus while he runs ahead full-speed and then watching with pride as he stops at each driveway to look both ways. It's a real exercise in trust. It can be hard to keep myself from yelling out, "stop at the driveway!" but I always feel good when I hold back and then he does what he's supposed to.

5) Oliver telling me he loves me higher than he can count. He told me he loves me "138." I'll take it.