Not Pollyanna, just Positive

There is a blogger called Galen Pearl who writes a blog called 10 Steps to Finding Your Happy Place.  I recently discovered her blog and am loving it.  Here are her 10 steps:

1. Give yourself permission to be happy.
2. Decide if you want to be right or happy.
3. Give up the delusion of control.
4. Feel your feelings.
5. Make haste to be kind.
6. Judge not.
7. Practice compassion.
8. Forgive everyone.
9. Develop an attitude of gratitude.
10. Be here now.

Although I never put it into these words before, it is the way I have tried to live.   

At times, I argue with my husband, my daughter sometimes talks back, I have carried balances on credit cards and, frankly, I eat waaaaaay too much chocolate.  I have suffered betrayal and loss.  I've had some pretty hard times.  I don't talk about those things here, though, or anywhere really.   In general, I call my sister or my mother, and complain some, get a little tea and sympathy, then try to get over it.  Not avoid it, but not dwell on it either.

Of course, things go wrong in life.  That's not what's really important.  What defines us is how we respond to those circumstances.  

Of a Certain Age

I just made my 48th birthday and I'm pretty happy about it.  I've got a pretty good life, all told.  Reasonably happy marriage and well-adjusted child:  check.  Meaningful work:  check.  Comfortable place to live:  check.  A very good life, really.   I've absolutely no cause to complain.

I'm also at the age where people stop saying, "She's good-looking," and start saying, "She looks good for her age."

OK, what's the big deal?  I do actually "look good for my age."   If I do say it myself.  People routinely think I am 10 or more years younger than I am.  I eat right (mostly), wear sunscreen (always), am reasonably active (mostly), get enough sleep (mostly), don't smoke or drink (mostly).  And I've got good genes -- my mother looks phenomenal for her age.  (...for her age, there it is again.)

Getting a few grays...to color or not to color?  A few lines...well, they're laugh lines, so that means I'm good-humored, right?

I've always been a low-maintenance, low-glamor type.  I don't wear makeup (can't see starting at this point), much jewelery, or even paint my nails.  I've never gone in for faddish dress (not since my college days, anyway).  Yet, I've always enjoyed looking good -- now I've got to settle for looking "good enough."

Sounds petty, I know.  But there it is.  Now back to our regularly scheduled aging.  Which definitely is better than the alternative, and for which I am sincerely grateful.

Tearing Down the House

I am grateful for all the children in my life.  Even when they're doing their best to tear the house down and kill themselves in the process.

My dear friend Yasmeen has twin boys, 18 months old:  "Y" and "Z."  Neither she nor her husband has family locally and she has never left the children with anyone but their father.  She has recently been having health problems, though, and when the doctor's office called to say a time slot had opened up in the afternoon, she had to take it.  I was just so excited and honored when she asked me to watch the boys!  I offered to go to their apartment, but Yas decided to bring them here.

Just to say, I am a loving and competent baby sitter.  But these guys were way faster than me.  And somehow in the years since Gem was little, my house has become filled with sharp corners exactly at toddler eye level, drawers and doors waiting to pinch little fingers, lamps just a touch away from crashing to the floor and cutting small bare feet.

The minute Yas left, they were off and running in opposite directions.  I wrangled them downstairs and outside.  We went for a walk during which they attempted to throw themselves in front of moving cars, insert their fingers into the mouth of the neighbor's German shepherd, and enter every house on the block.

The nice lady two doors down has several cats.  Which eat from several bowls stashed around the front porch.  How was I to know that Y and Z love cat food?  Actually, I can remember a time when Gem ate it every chance she got too.

Hey, it's got nutrients.

When we got home, they played the piano with Gem and Y helped me cook supper.  He's quite the chef given his own empty pot and wooden spoon.  Perfect timing:  they started to get fussy just as I was ready to serve.  Gem and I put some old tee shirts over their clothes to serve as bibs and spooned them full of pasta and meatballs.

I could see them starting to rub their eyes and get a little whiny, so I felt a bath was in order.  Cue wailing and tearing of hair.  And that was just to get their clothes off.  I thought for sure once they got into the tub all would be well.  All children love to play in the water, right?  Wrong.  Now I know.

Thank goodness that's just when Yas returned with o.k. news from the doctor (not terrible; not great) and a little time spent all by herself.  (Bless her.)  And a Y and Z so happy to see their mommy!

After everyone left, Gem and I just looked at one another, dazed.  Really, my hat is off to mothers of twins.  I am in awe of what Yas does every day with such grace and serenity.

And Gem and I are already planning what to do next time we get to spend an evening with Y and Z. (Big smile!)