I’m cheating. Super Seven is only going to be five. Five things that brought me joy this week.
This was the second week back after my holidays. The first full, five-day week. With a new baby. I think I’m too tired for joy, exactly, but it was a good week. There were things that made my heart rise a little. I can conjure up a weary smile, but joy? Takes too much energy, thanks. Mostly I just want to go to bed.
Going to bed would bring me joy.
Monday: First Monday with the new baby, Noah. Some tears, no screams. No screams is good. This made me smile.
Tuesday: The dog’s innards have settled. I can’t say that I enjoy cooking her ground-turkey-and-rice meals, but it’s better than the alternative.
Wednesday: Anna wore a tutu. Is there anything cuter than a three-year-old in a tutu? (I got that picture from The Tutu Boutique. Interested in a tutu? Check it out!)
Thursday: Yes, there is. A three-year-old in a tutu, rolling down a sunny hillside.
Friday: Or a three-year-old in a tutu, screaming with laughter as she chases a dog across a sunny field.
The highlight of my week? Anna’s tutu. Hee.
Like the originator, I will make a half-assed attempt to make this a weekly event. No! I will make a Sincere and True attempt … but it likely will end up half-assed. It will not be lack of desire that prevents me. It will not even be lack of happy events. It will be lack of memory.
“Maternal amnesia”, a common effect of pregnancy, is, so I was assured by authorities who could be presumed to know this stuff, a temporary thing. It lasts for pregnancy, and maybe a few weeks beyond, as the hormones settle.
When mine didn’t go away immediately, I attributed that to sleep-deprivation. When the child was sleeping through a few months later, it was still happening … but by then I’d forgotten it was supposed to go away.
My first baby is 22 years old now.
Pre-publication update: I just found this in my draft file, whipped it out and finished it off, even though it’s really supposed to be published on a Friday. I’d, ahem, forgotten about it…
Monday: I woke to the sound of rain, rain, rain, rain. I would not ordinarily be woken by mere raindrops, but it’s clear that there’s a tin can RIGHT UNDER a rather large drip. So it’s not a sweet pitter-patter of rain, but a sleep-vanishing CLANG! CLANG! CLANGCLANGCLANG! THWAK!!!
This does not make me smile. What makes me smile is that a) I was woken when I should be getting up anyway, so no sleep lost and b) last night before going to bed, the air smelled damp, so despite the cloudless and sunny skies we’d had ALL DAY LONG, I pulled in my daughter’s laundry off the line in the back yard. Ah, the satisfaction of a crisis averted. Joy 1.
My daughter was delighted. She came downstairs this morning with an anxious scowl, saw her laundry basket sitting on the dining table, and thanked me very prettily. Unsolicited gratitude, from a fifteen-year-old. Lovely child. She’s very gratifying that way. Joy 2.
Tuesday: My kitchen has moved from a drab pinkish-beige to a lovely crisp pale blue, with bright-white trim. I smile every time I see it.
Wednesday: The bathroom wall also makes me smile every time I see it. It’s too much colour for such a small room, particularly a small room that is overbearingly ROBIN’S EGG BLUE (hellooooo, 1960’s), but the wall treatment itself? I smell wafts of salt air from the breezes off the Mediterranean every time I see it. (Makes peeing a veritable virtual holiday. Six, eight, ten times a day!) Joy, joy, joy.
Thursday: A lively table of teens and twenty-somethings. My son (in college, living at home), his girlfriend (same college, living in residence), another friend (university, in his own apartment), my youngest (high school), all sitting in the dining room, scarfing down chicken pot pie, beans, and salad, and talking, teasing, laughing — joyful. I loved it. Maybe I’ll make this a weekly event. “Feed a starving student.”
Friday: The advice given by the nice fellow in the pet food store is working! 24 hours into a white-rice-and-turkey diet, the dog’s diarrhea is gone. Yes, this DOES bring me joy, and anyone who lives in a poop-and-scoop city can understand the bliss.
Saturday, Sunday: Long, long walks with my sweetie. (And the dog, also a sweetie.) Chiller on the patio of the coffee shop one day, while sitting on the monument commemorating the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights (drafted by a Canadian) the next. Enobling sentiments. Long, gentle, summer days. Lots of sun. Blissful blue sky. Footpaths by the canal. Congenial people. Conversation. Lifts my spirits. Joy.
Our poem for the week? “Happiness”, by A.A. Milne. No, we don’t do a poem a week. But we do them when the mood strikes or they seem hugely appropriate. This one seemed downright unavoidable.
Yes, all my toddlers know what a mackintosh is. (No, that’s evidently not “john” in the picture, but it’s the best picture I could find. Besides, this is an equal-opportunity site…)
We have actions for this. First we stomp in place, getting the beat. STOMP-stomp, STOMP-stomp, STOMP-stomp…
JOHN had GREAT big WATERproof BOOTS on (Pull up one boot, then another)
JOHN hada GREAT big WATERproof HAT (Grab imaginery brim and pull firmly down over head)
JOHN hada GREAT big WATERproof MACKintosh (Do up the toggles of your mackintosh)
And THAT, said JOHN, (fold one arm, fold the other)
THAT. (NOD firmly)
So there. Mucho fun.
(Totally tangential: Happy St.-Jean-Baptiste day, all you lucky Quebeckers…)