I am not someone who always recognizes happy when she sees it. As a Type A perfectionist, there's always something that could have been better or faster or more efficient. But today, right now, I feel happy. My husband is kind and funny. My kids are well-adjusted and successful. And not here. Even better. But I'll be so, so happy to hear about the tennis tournament when they get back.
Today was one of those days when I got a lot done. Nothing major, just the 35 little piddly things that have been hovering over my to-do list for ages. Things like putting recipes torn from newspaper and already-covered-in-soy-sauce-and-what-looks-like-bread-dough into binders, finishing up some leftover laundry, dishes done, homemade bread made, east side flower bed tilled, weeded, and mulched. I feel great. It may look on the outside like a manic-depressive on a tear, but I know you're not a licensed psychologist.
And it's early fall in Texas. There's nothing else like it anywhere. One beer, seven neighbors. As I walked back home for dinner, I realized how blessed my life is. I'm just going to sit back and enjoy it.