Happiness is three pairs of fuzzy socks

Yesterday, in the final blow-out of our extended pajama-party/lazy-slug-fest that was Christmas vacation, the girls stumbled upon the bag of stocking presents I'd hidden away so cleverly that even I'd forgotten where I'd concealed it. (Note: not the first time that has happened...) Kids' noses are extraordinarily keen at sniffing out those presents, and my 8 year-old seems to be especially adept at it.

She went into my room for some made-up reason; I heard a rustling and then, "Hey Mommy! I think I found something that you forgot to put away!"

Well, I knew that could only mean a box of feminine hygiene products or the bag of stocking gifts which I'd been unable to find in that mad dash to pack and get the hell out of the house and on the road to my parents' house. I did a quick inventory in my head and realized that I'm very good at concealing the first items and figured she meant the gifts.

I bellowed back, "Get out of that bag! And get out of my ROOM! ARGH!"

The wretch sneaked back out with the hugest grin on her face, so I knew that she'd seen the Hello Kitty purse I'd bought her. Lucy, now aware that something was afoot, then got up off the couch as unobtrusively as a 5 year-old could manage (read: not at all) and tip-toed into my room to have a look for herself.

By her squeal, I judged that she'd found the Dora purse I'd gotten her.

"Get. Out. NOW!!" I hollered.

Giggling, she ran out. The two of them looked at me with those twinkling eyes and any hope I'd had of keeping the bag of gifts as a fall-back for Natalie's birthday in April had crashed and burned. Monstrous children.

"Ok," I sighed. "Go get the damn bag and let's see what we've got."

We had: a purse and a locket for each of the girls, some ordinary socks (hey, I'm a mom and a practical one), some Hello Kitty glamor pens, a bag of chocolate coins, a colony of chocolate santas, and three pairs of fuzzy socks. We divvied up the chocolate among the three of us, and looked at the fuzzy socks.

"Hmmm," I thought, "How do I split up three pairs of socks among two kids," when Natalie said,

"Hey Mommy! You get a pair too!"

Cool. Problem solved.

We all put on our fuzzy socks and giggled. I swear, I think we were high on chocolate, or maybe it was hypothermia, it is pretty cold here after all. For some reason, it tickled all three of us that we each had our own pair of fuzzy socks. We sat all snuggled up on the couch and admired our feet clad in slippery, fuzzy, shiny socks.

"OMG, Mommy! Take a picture!" shrieked one of them.

So I did.



I'm amazed at how happy I am lately.

Maybe I'm just high from some sort of radon leak in my house. Who the hell knows.

I do know that my times with the girls the past few months have been better, happier, more content. Sure, they still push my buttons and I send them to their rooms, but we've had so many more times all snuggled together on the couch watching cartoons, movies or reading books. On occasion, they even like to nap with me now, sucked up to me like a remora on a shark.

Could it be that they've finally adjusted to the separation and consequent bouncing back and forth between two houses? Now they're happy when they're here and not missing their dad as much as before because they know that they will see him in a few days and that they'll be back here after that and so on.

Or maybe, sometimes happiness just comes in the form of three pairs of fuzzy socks.

It's indescribably beautiful

My lovely older daughter woke me at 3:30 am with repeated kicks to the kidneys, just like when she was still in my womb. Now, 8 years older and some 70-odd pounds heavier, she really packs a wallop. Long after she'd settled back into that heavy slumber only children can attain without drugs, I lay there wide awake, my mind a-whirl.

I got up after a fruitless hour of trying to re-enter my dreams and found my little Lucy awake on the couch, stuffed cheetah under one arm, and the real life, purring Cheetah on her lap.

"Mommy! You're awake!" she chirped at me.

Nodding, I plunked myself down next to her and she gave me a smack on the cheek followed by that famous Lucy Smile. She reached up and petted my hair, a sweet quirk of hers she's had since infancy and one which she reverts to in our quiet moments together. I shivered in the early December morning air, looked out the window and saw that winter had come in the night and covered the ground with pristine white crystals. The air was still thick with silent falling snow. I gave Lucy a kiss and got up to make my Marine-strong pot of coffee.

Natalie came out of my room holding her blanket. "Mommy? Is it still night or is it morning?"

"Both, actually honey. It's early," I replied. "Do you want to go back to bed? I'm just making some coffee and then I'm going to put in a movie for me and Lucy."

*yawn* "Nope. I wanna sit with you on the couch."

Some ten minutes later, there we were, all three of us girls and one content orange tabby snuggled together on the couch with a pile of pillows and a heap of blankets, afghans and comforters, watching "A Christmas Story."

No matter how many times I watch that movie, and I watch it dozens of times during the build-up to Christmas, I laugh to the point of crying, and cry to the point of hiccuping. My girls have seen that movie so many times that they rattled off bits of the dialogue with me perfectly and giggled in anticipation of favorite moments.

Lucy hooked her little arm in mine and rested her silky-haired head on my arm while Natalie looked over at me and grinned the same face-splitting smile she's had since she first gazed up at me and laughed as a fat and happy baby.

This is the color, shape, smell and touch of contentment. If I never do another great thing in my life, I know that I helped bring these two sweet, loving creatures into the world.

Life is hard, but indescribably beautiful.