Reason No. 8 to be happy

bubble baths

Take a bubble bath with a nice cup of tea and a good book. The water flows over my toes and the spicy tea warms me up on the inside. The book feeds my brain and for thirty minutes I'm in a bubbly oasis-- an opera all to myself, dreamy, soothing, comforter-- no headaches, no smoke and no chill-- until the last bubble pops and I let the water out.

No.7 Reason to be happy

Thanksgiving

For a moment the world stops. It's just us, a turkey, some stuffing and our family.

Reason to be happy No. 6

Sweet nothings

It started at her toes. My 7-year-old Nikki wanted me to tickled them and then the Tickle War commenced. Across the couch and onto the floor we chased each other with wiggly fingers -- until I caught her and got her where it counts-- her ear-- into which I growled,"I wov you Nikkerboc!"

Giggles. Goosebumps. Silliness.

"Mama you whispered sweet nothings!"

I sure did Nikkibocker.

Reason No. 5 to be happy

Fresh Baked Bread

Today I took out my frustrations on some yeasty dough. I pounded, punched and ground my palms into the the sticky, squishy dough. Then I let it rest. It got all big-headed and full of itself, so I beat it down again-- only to have it rise once more-- so I shoved it in the oven.

Oh it teased me -- filling my house with its warm smell until I throw open the oven door and knocked. The dough sounded hollow, airy, so I ripped off a chunk, rubbed its shell in butter and bit down.

Reason No.4 to be happy

Cat eyes

Last night we couldn't find Raisin Bran, our 14-year-old cat. The wind pelted our house with rain and snow and dared us to go searching for our beloved kitty. Truthfully, I'm ashamed to admit I really didn't want to dawn my snow boots and heavy coat to trudge in the snow for an old cat that was probably just hiding under our deck. I wanted to cuddle up with a cup of tea and let be-- be.

But I couldn't. There were children involved and cold as I felt-- my heart hadn't chilled quite through. I would do what all good moms do-- search for the kitty in the snow storm.

I walked the neighborhood. I drove the neighborhood. I called out the window, tried to bait the air with cat kibble-- nothing.

In the chilly air my heart began to defrost. She really was missing. My baby of 14-years who would let you hug her like a teddy bear-- gone. I had taken her for granted lately. Isn't that always the case just prior to something you love going away?

I tried to reassure myself. She'd gotten mean in her old age. Her beautiful black shiny hair had lost its luster and was falling out. She was fearful and would back up form even those who loved her best. Maybe she was sick and dying and wanted to go in peace.

I returned to the house--resigned. Our kitty was simply gone and that's when I saw my middle child looking scared. She didn't want to admit soemthing.

"Mom, maybe Raisin is int he playhouse?" she said.

"How could that be?"I said. "You all weren't supposed to go outside today because of the rain."

"Indigo and I did," she said. "We just wanted to look inside. Maybe Raisin went inside while we were looking. Pepper (our dog) was barking when I shut the door."

I grabbed a flashlight and peeked inside the dark little house. Nothing. I was about to shut the door when--

"In the door, look!" my daughter shouted.

Two glowing golden eyes looked back at me but wouldn't budge. We left the door open. Minutes later my kitty was at the back door.

Reason No.3 to be happy

Slumber parties

This morning I wrapped up my fourth sleepover at my house in as many weeks, and I'll admit it-- I'm a bit sad.

For the past four weekends, I've had hordes of girls toting sleeping bags, cheap play makeup and stuffed animals into my house. I've listened to their thumping feet bounding down the hall and been jolted awake by their midnight shrieks. I've consumed more pizza than should ever be allowed and whipped up more pumpkin, blueberry and chocolate chip muffins than Betty Crocker herself.

I've endured Sponge Bob and Hannah Montan movie marathons, and I've even watched some dreadful preteen mean girl movies.

When the preteens arrived, it was as if a whole host of locusts swarmed my refrigerator and kitchen cabinets. Gone was the jam, the peanut butter, all mac and cheese or easy to make pasta product, granola bars and frozen convenience foods. The popcorn went out with a bang. Even the fruit, the good nutritious fruit found its way down someone's stomach. My kitchen was a barren land of dirty dishes and hungry, face-painted girls.

When the first graders came, it was all Disney. The dress-up boxes spilled and the girls emerged dressed fit for their imaginations-- and I was lucky enough to listen in.

I am lucky. I am fortunate and next week--

Yes, the parties will be over, but--

I'll have my girls all to myself-- and that is a gift all by itself.

Reason No. 2 to be happy

Elementary school parties.

Yesterday my first grader dressed up as a Pilgrim and ate on the floor with a bunch of Indians. She sat by her best friend, Sam, shoved popcorn down her throat and whispered secrets into his ear-- and I had the honor of watching.

A reason to be happy No. 1

Last night my 11-year-old Maggie and I snuck off to the the midnight premiere of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows--" only to discover the theater's website didn't know how to tell time. It advertised the Thursday November 18th midnight showing -- not realizing that after midnight, it's really Friday. We showed up at 10 p.m. Wednesday and met some serious Potter fans camping out on the sidewalks. Movie-goers dressed in Hogwarts robes and snuggled up in heavy blue sleeping bags lined the side of the building. A life-sized cut out of Dumbledore marked their territory.

"Are you here for Harry Potter?" a Hermione Granger look-a-like asked.

"Yeah, I brought my daughter-- thought I'd let her go in late to school," I said.

"Wow! You are one cool mom!" she said.

Suddenly many would-be wizards wanted to shake my hand.

My daughter and I sat under a park light and read while waiting for showtime.

When security tried to kick us out of the parking lot at 11:30 p.m., I started to get suspicious and then I looked at my ticket (Friday 12:06 p.m.). There was no way I was going to let my 11-year-old daughter camp out in a parking lot in the freezing cold November weather. All we had was a thin quilt and --s he had school tomorrow.

"What?! Security is going to kick us out?!" I asked 'outraged at the injustice.'

"It happens every time," said a college-age man as he put away his life-size cut out of Dumbledore.

"Well-- that--sucks," I said still trying to maintain a semblance of cool. "What are you all going to do?"

"I guess we'll find a place to hang out," he said.

"Maggie!" I shouted. "We're going to have to leave. They're kicking us out. . . What time are you coming back?"

"I don't know? Six? That's when the parking lot opens," he said. "We'll hold your spot. This isn't a very good part of town. Don't worry. We saw you all here. Come back later."

A sigh of relief. I was still "the cool mom." I tossed my daughter into the car.

"Can you believe it the movie's website doesn't know how to tell time?" I said. "Well, we'll just have to come back after school."

"Mom, do I still get to go in late?" Maggie asked.

"Absolutely not," I said. "I can't have you going in late two days in a row, so when we gate home, You better shut those eyes and concentrate on sleep."

Just to be sure that I wasn't nuts, my daughter and I looked over the theater's Website. Yep, it still advertised the Thursday Nov. 18 midnight showings. I wasn't crazy.

And I was strangely giddy. Why? Because my daughter and I had created a memory-- we'd had an adventure-- and I was the cool Mom (that never hurts).

Sometimes you just need to get out

take a look around and free yourself.

I've been looking for the answer --

The brave and optimistic answer

"The only person who can empower you is you."

Well, I know that. I've always known that--

But to act on it--

to truly believe

and to throw off the yellow Sunday covers and

do something -- now

that

takes

courage.

Backed up against immovable red tape.

But where to go? What to do?

I was always told not to run with scissors-- and a nice pair of orange-handled Singer Scissors could really do the trick,

slice through the stickiness of deaf, mute puppets holding the strings

and casting me over the wall

to dance as they please..

It's been more than a year

It's been so long since I visited this little blog. I remember how much I loved it, how writing on it made me feel so free and how ultimately I had to give it up. But I miss it. It's lonely out here in the real world. So hello little blog. I dropped by to say, "hi." Maybe next time I'll stay a while.