The Things We Choose

I have long believed that happiness is a choice. I try to choose it 100% of the time. Believe it or not, I've found life to be happier that way. I don't always succeed, but at least I know what I'm aiming for. Somehow by Thursday of last week, I was nearly crying myself to sleep. I say nearly, because I didn't actually cry myself to sleep. I recovered, but I came close. And as I lay there feeling so, not happy, I was wondering what I had done wrong? Where had my formula failed me? I know how to be happy, I try to do all the things that make me happy, and yet there I was ready to let the tears fall heavy on my pillow. So, I had to review.

On Monday I took all the children to the Korean equivalent of Target. "Pick anything you want", I said. I was choosing happiness for everyone! Of course there were parameters, but ice cream was going to sweeten the deal at the exit, so all sadness would be swallowed away. Henry and George found some new Lego guys they didn't already own. Plus, Henry added a piggy bank that he would share with George. They are working to pay me back right now, but once the debt is done, they are already making plans for what is next. Big, BIG plans, that require a giant plastic piggy bank. Right now they are charging their sisters just to play with them. They only charge pennies, but I'm worried about the practice none the less.

Jane picked out a Barbie paper pop-up room, full of accessories. I should have known better before I let her pick it. She's a perfectionist. Paper pop-ups are riddled with imperfections. It was a dicey match for her all afternoon long. And when her face was tear stained and red from crying, she didn't care anymore that I had gotten her a scoop of ice cream on the way out. Why hadn't I protected her from her own choice, was the question she was really asking me.

Ruby picked a pink bridal veil. She came home and instantly transformed herself into a pink bride. She was happy! As soon as Darin walked through the front door, she told him she had been waiting all day long for him. Could he please be her prince?

He said, "Sure, what do you want me to do?"

"First," she told him, "...change your clothes. And then dance with me!"

He just danced with her immediately.



I was so grateful.

On Tuesday the boys had to get sports physicals. Henry chose to participate in basketball camp, and George is going to play soccer. Basketball camp had already started. It was so hard he came home achy and foul smelling each afternoon. Would I please come and watch one time, so I could see for myself what he was going through? I slipped in during the last fifteen minutes one day, just in time to see them get assigned 5 suicides across the gym floor. I watched his achy and sore body run those suicides with precision and dedications, and tremendously weary. I smiled despite his misery (and mine). When it was over I said, "Yeah, you are right, that basketball camp is really hard. But do you know what? I don't feel sorry for you. It's the kind of hard that is good for you. Just make sure you get a good night sleep so you can go back ready for more tomorrow."



But inside I was worried if it really was too hard.

At the sports physical the parent-doctor discussion was about puberty. I sat there remorseful, but listening. I know it's information that I'm going to be glad to have. But how had I gotten here? How about just measure their head circumference, beam about their chubby cheeks, and watch how that they can sit up all on their own. Remember?

On Wednesday after the girls went to their afternoon of summer camp, I stopped by to inquire about the upcoming preschool year. Would it be possible to sign them up for the three day a week class, as opposed to just two? I found out it would be, but the decision had to be made quickly. I didn't have time to think about it, or else we would lose the spots.

And the reality set in, this is their last year at home. I want it to be, and I'm ready for it to be, but it hurt all the same.

I still remember the email I wrote to one of my best friends a few years ago when things were REALLY hard, and babies surrounded me. I said something like, "someone telling me that time will go by quickly, and that they will be starting kindergarten before I know it, is like telling me to just wait one million years, and then life is going to be easier." I was bitter that things were so hard, with no end in sight.

How have one millions years nearly passed?

To find some joy I took everyone to Happy Quilt. I announced that everyone should search the tables and bring back one single packet of fabric. I was going to make pajama bottoms for the whole family. That was going to make me happy!

How is it possible at the very place where I find nothing but beautiful fabric, I was looking at four of the ugliest fabrics I'd ever seen?! Hadn't I raised more aesthetically aware children? But I was determined not to stand in the way of their choices. Each child defended their choice vehemently. But poor Ruby presented her choice last of all, when I was tired of looking at ugly fabric. I actually told her her choice was ugly. She walked back over to me a few minutes later and asked me one more time what I thought. I said, "Well Ruby, you like it, so it's going to be great." And she said, "It's too late. I heard you say you didn't like it. Why did you have to say that? It's too late to say it's pretty now."

I was so sorry.

It's okay that by Thursday night I was ready to cry. None of it was huge, or life altering. None of it was terrible or tragic, but it was not happy either. Life is a mixture. The goal is happiness. But sometimes we have to wade through a few small sorrows to know and appreciate the joy. I want every year to be better than the previous. I don't ever want to wish we were standing still and not forward looking. But it's okay sometimes to realize where we are and let the magnitude of the moment settle upon us and mourn, even if just for a moment the innocence that we necessarily lose along the way.

On Friday night as I was dropping off our angel of a babysitter Rebecca, we were talking about her upcoming birthday.

"Don't worry" she said, "I'm going to come babysit on my birthday."

"Oh no you are not." I said. "This is a big birthday. You need to celebrate." (She's turning 20!)

And she said to me, "It's okay. I realized this year, just being here is the gift. Just having another year of healthy life ahead of me is really all I need. So I'll come and babysit that night."

And in that moment, I knew she really meant what she was saying.

So I said to her, "Well, thanks for saying that Rebecca. I think I really needed to hear that. See you next Friday."

On my run the next morning the lyrics of the songs were reminding me that beauty and pain often go hand and hand. And that's the point. Take a moment, feel the pain, and let it hurt. Then, open your eyes, look around and appreciate the new view of beauty.

Adapt. It can still be happy.