My Very Own Happiness Project

We took Jace to camp on Sunday. It was an exciting day for him as he loves camp and two buddies went with him. And? It was an exciting day for me because it meant a child-free week. What's not to love?

But today is Tuesday and I miss him. I miss his stories and his laughter and his hugs and I even miss his obnoxious ways. And I am finding myself determining to be more patient and more diligent--basically having lots of parental overhaul moments. Jace is 13 years old now--a bonafide teenager. It won't be long until he, too, is all grown up and Roy and I are left with echoing walls. I want to enjoy, to cherish, to look back with few regrets.

I have started reading a book called The Happiness Project. I'm late to the game on this one as it was a rage a few years back and I'm just now discovering it. (Thanks, Erin.) But it has an intriguing premise. The author gives herself a year to purposefully create happiness in her life. She works on one ideal a month, charts her progress, and then adds a second ideal the next month, and so on. She compares herself to Benjamin Franklin and his quest for perfection, for those of you who have read The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Anyway, this book has given me room for thought as I've contemplated what my ideals would be for my very own happiness project. Here are a few of my own ideas:

1.  I need to take more time to play. I am far too practical. That would cost too much in gas...Packing a picnic is so much work!...I am often far too content to hang in my swing in my front yard rather than go on an adventure. My incredible friend, Jacque, is an adventurer. She keeps things rolling, finds things to do, discovers the world around her. She is inspiring and I wish we lived closer as I know she would get me out of the neighborhood where I tend to hibernate. Anyway, Roy, Jace and I went Zen Tubing while she was here--floated down the French Broad where conversation never lacked and the raw beauty of North Carolina never ceased to amaze me. Afterwards, Roy said, "That was so much fun. I didn't think I'd like it but I'll do it again." North Carolina is the land of opportunity when it comes to outdoor fun. We need to cultivate that adventuresome spirit.

2.  Read more books. I have learned the joy of Netflix and unfortunately, it saps a lot of my time. But recently I've determined to read more, to get back to the things I love. I've always been a great self-entertainer as I am a lover of words. And so, I am going to do my best to conquer a book a week, alternating between informational or self-help and entertainment. I admire those who are avid readers and know a little about a lot.

3.  Make my home a haven. My bedroom? Not so much. It is strictly utilitarian. But I was inspired by this book I read recently called The Magic of Tidying Up where she discusses the importance of making every room soothing to our souls. I lamented to Jacque that I just don't have the money for a whole new bedroom suit and so it may be a few years before my bedroom becomes a hideaway. And she told me my view is all wrong--that I just need to change up the little things: hang a picture that speaks to me on the wall, get a new comforter, add a couple of throw pillows, bring in a cozy lamp...And she's right. I need to add small touches to each of the rooms in my house and it would make a world of difference. So...that's on my very own Happiness Project List.

4.  Get more sleep. I have been surviving on about 6 hours each night. But last night I forced myself to go to bed at 9:30 and I woke up before my alarm--the true test for whether you're well-rested. I need to make that a regular habit.

5.  Media-free. I need to put my phone down more, focus on being present with those around me.

So there's my beginning. I am sure my list will grow as I continue reading this book, but for now, I'm inspired to make small changes to my world so that I create a life that is filled...

with joy,
with adventure,
with love,
with laughter,
with hope.

The Cat Lady

Sparti does not like Ajax. He doesn't appreciate him and he doesn't he think he's cute. When Sparti is around, I see a lot of wild eyes and twitching tails.

But Ajax? He loves Sparti. He gets so excited when he sees him. (Ajax is in a cage to keep him safe when Sparti's around.) Ajax puts his little paw through the bars and paws at Sparti as if to say, "Please come play with me!" And then he desperately pokes his little nose through the bars, trying his best to get as close to Sparti's face as possible.

It's so adorable.

But Sparti? He just hisses and growls.

Yesterday I took off a half day of work to attend a wedding.

A year ago January I worked for Hope Chest as they lost their director and needed Conquer a Cove organized (a 5K race that is centered around the MPA campus). As I was only working part-time for the school, I hesitantly agreed as I've never exactly been the event planner sort. But I had a great team and we pulled it off without a hitch. Anyway, about the time we held the 5K, they hired a new director: Sara. We quickly became fast friends. Sara is one of those people who has the weirdest things happen to her and shares the most unbelievable stories. We worked side by side after Conquer a Cove was over for about a month and spent many hours swapping stories over lunch out on the patio. And then my month was over and I started working for Buncombe County and that was that.

But? Sara hired Savana as her assistant and so Sara has continued to be part of our lives. When Savana was in the hospital for six days, Sara was right there by my side, asking if I needed anything, bringing food, staying overnight with Savana so we could get some sleep...She was the truest of friends in that moment. She made all the difference.

So the wedding we attended? It was Sara's. And it was beautiful. When we first walked in, she had a program laid out on a table with packages of kleenex. I thought, "I'm not going to cry--no need." And then the wedding started and I'm pretty sure I didn't stop crying until the entire party had exited the building.

Whatcha gonna do...

Once I got home I cleaned my house and got utterly lost in time as before I knew it, three hours had flown by...but the good news? My house smells clean. The floors are mopped so that I won't have to throw a wet washcloth on the floor and use my foot to scrub the sticky spots for awhile. And that's a good thing.

About the time I finished, Jace asked if I wanted to go for a walk while he rode his scooter.

Erin was telling me recently how, if Steve doesn't want to play with her boys, they start singing Cats in the Cradle and it works like a charm.

And so, with Cats in the Cradle running through my mind, I readily agreed (as I am easily guilted as well) but really...who doesn't want to hear a 13 year old perspective on life? He chattered away about school and friends and life as he knows it. I laughed and grinned and burst the whole way.

So here I am. It's Saturday morning and I am hanging out in my living room, watching Sparti and Ajax. Sparti is determined to get Ajax's food out, pebble by pebble, with his paw, while Ajax watches from as much distance as he can get. Sparti has more than made his feelings known. I am fighting myself to resist the urge to go back to the Humane Society and get another kitten so that Ajax has a playmate. Rejection is a tough row to hoe and that's all poor Ajax has gotten from Sparti. But my word...I don't want to be the cat lady! And I could be -- in a heartbeat.

I love cats.

But I figure I will just conquer the urge day by day until, finally, Ajax is all grown up and can take care of himself.

And maybe next time I go to a wedding I will be a bit wiser and grab those Kleenex on my way in.

Because? Well, life is about the little things. It's about the every day, and the mundane, and the regular. But sometimes we celebrate new life and new love. And sometimes we spend our days washing dishes and driving to work, the radio blaring our favorite song. But through it all, what's most important is that we're present and aware and alive and with those we love the most in this world.

Because in the end, that's what makes life worth living.

Riding Copilot

The past seven days have been nothing short of amazing. One of my persons, Jacque, visited from sun-soaked California and we had such a delightful time. We talked for hours, shared experiences, dined at restaurants, strolled through fanciful stores that I wouldn't normally visit, hiked DuPont Falls, tubed down the French Broad, and caught up on everything that has happened in our lives over the past few years since we've since each other. I've said it before--Jacque has been a pivotal person in my life as I've known her since I was about 16 years old. She's intuitive and insightful and has a lot of wisdom for her years. She's a rare gem and I'm thankful she's in my life.

Today marks another monumental day: we're bringing home a kitten from the Humane Society. They're running this $5 kitten sale through the month of June and so we're taking advantage.

We got Bax, our deaf cat, shortly after we moved here. I had a cat--Ebony--but she was old and frail and mine. Jace is a nut when it comes to animals. He just can't get enough. We'd have a zoo if he had his way. Roy's worker, Drew, had white kittens they were trying to give away and so on a weak moment, Roy told Drew to bring them over and we'd take one. And so, shortly before Christmas of 2010 Drew's mom brought over a bag decorated like a Christmas present and filled with three kittens for us to choose from. One of them had short hair and bright blue eyes...and he was deaf. Roy and Jace immediately latched on to that one. I was hesitant--a deaf cat? How is that going to work? But they were adamant that he was the one and so I complied and Bax joined the family. (We also took another one--Bella--but that's another story for another day.)

Anyway, Bax must have intuitively known I wasn't keen on the idea of a deaf cat as he never liked me. But Roy and Jace? Oh my word! He was their cat! Jace could haul him around like a sack of potatoes and he would meow for more. But if I tried to pick him up, he would immediately use his paw to push away from me and frantically try to escape. And I am the one who fed him daily!

He followed Roy like a dog, meowing after him the whole way. If Roy worked out in the garage, Bax would lay in the driveway, patiently waiting for as long as Roy chose to be there. And Bax adored golf cart rides. It didn't matter where he was on campus--if he spied our golf cart, he would come running as fast as he could, meowing this obnoxious, loud meow. (We always figured he couldn't hear himself so he had no idea how loud he was.) Roy would always stop and wait when he saw Bax headed his way and Bax would climb on, jump on the seat beside Roy, and away they would go.

But here's the kicker. If I happened to be in the golf cart, Bax would look up, see me, and turn and walk away.

Yeah.

Rejection.

Bax was deaf so he had so many absurdities. He didn't mind vacuum cleaners. You could scream and clap at him all day long and he wouldn't flinch. And he loved napping in the road. The people around here knew to look out for him and I watched far too many cars come to a dead stop and wait for him to move, drive around him, or even get out and move him. He was our miracle cat and Roy always proclaimed he had a very active guardian angel.

But when we were in Florida the inevitable happened: we got a call that Bax was hit on the road leading up to Faculty Lane. I guess his guardian angel got tired. Bax survived 4 1/2 years but I will say that he lived life with gusto. He enjoyed every minute, soaked in every day. In his head, he was king of the mountain and whether it was bringing down a turkey (which he attempted a few times without success, thankfully) or napping in the living room, he lived life as though it was his for the taking.

I have a feeling that Bax is one of a kind. I'm not game to get another deaf cat and his quirkiness was certainly not the norm.

Roy took Jace this past Friday to pick out a kitten at the Humane Society. He's precious--black and white, long hair, piercing eyes. He's just a little thing but I'm sure that he'll adjust quickly to life in the Seals home and be bouncing everywhere driving us all nuts as kittens do. And I expect he'll be a normal cat. He'll run from the vacuum cleaner and he'll run when he sees a car approaching. That's a good thing. We haven't officially picked out a name. The kids all vote Oliver but Roy is determined it needs to be the name of a warrior as our gray cat is Sparti--short for Sparticus. We'll see how that turns out.

But regardless...

I'll miss seeing Roy in the golf cart, a big ole grin on his face, as Bax rides co-pilot.

Every Day, All Day, Forever

As of Saturday evening at 5:15, we are officially home from a fun-soaked week in Palm Coast, Florida at an oceanside resort.

I have the post-vacation blues.

Don't get me wrong. It feels good to be home. I was so happy to see Piper and took some time to play ball with him so he would remember how incredible I am. And it was good to see Guer and Savana as I gorged on her salt & pepper popcorn that is divine as everything she cooks is divine. It was good to see little Sparti who cuddled up on my lap and snuggled right in for longer than usual. And it was so good to sleep on my mattress that doesn't have potholes that I roll into whether I want to or not. We hung outside on the swing for a bit and Karen and John strolled by then came over and hung out. That was fun--until it rained and forced us back inside while they dashed for their own home. Life is good here and the normalcy of our routine and even the mundane of our regular leave us with nothing to complain about.

But after 7 days with family--the ones who know me best and love me anyway...after 7 days of sun and beach and ocean and Indian restaurants and games and cappuccino on the porch in the mornings and sunrises and platters of nachos and Mexican restaurants and Rumikub and strolls along the beach at sunset and Disney Quest and laughter and nephews and nieces and Jurassic World and watermelon and swimming with dolphins and jet skiing and Olive Garden and sand between my toes...well, after all of that I decided that I was created for that sort of life every day, all day, forever.

Hopefully...

Last week I got sick. It started on Memorial Day--one of those sore throats and the beginnings of a cold. I woke up on Tuesday morning with the alarm at 5:00 and struggled out of bed and down the stairs to feed the cats who are more than happy to let me know their disdain: What took you so long? I let Piper out and back and then I knew without any doubt that work was not happening on this day. I had a fever; I could barely stand up for any length of time; I headed back to bed.

Wednesday? Not much better but at least no fever.

And so on Thursday I went back to work, my head still swimming with a cold. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that I was under the weather. And so, a couple of the girls I work with took one look at me and begged me to Please work from home! And, as that is one of the perks of my job--that I can work from home--I did just that.

I came straight home, pulled my chair into the middle of the living room to escape the glare of the sun on my screen, and settled down for a day of work on the home front.

Friday was a repeat of the same.

Even still I'm congested but other than that? I feel just fine. Darian, however, does not.

I noticed last night that her eyes are watering, she's sniffling quite a lot, and she has this look on her face that says I don't feel so good.

We are leaving on Friday for Florida.

I think that we have this unconscious trigger that says One must get sick when we are planning a trip. Without fail, when we are going to meet family, someone gets sick.

The most memorable time that this happened was when we lived in Wisconsin and flew to my sister Lori's home in Sacramento one summer. We were so excited to join her for a week and had saved and dreamed and planned of all of the escapades we would experience during this fun-filled week in sunny California.

We flew out on a Thursday, and the kids attended Pathfinders the evening before. Just after I got home from dropping them off, one of the leaders called and said, "Darian just threw up all over the gym. You maybe should come pick her up."

Sure enough. She had the stomach flu.

During the entire flight to Sacramento the next day the poor girl sat with her head over a bag, doing her best to retch quietly. It. Was. Awful.

It lasted exactly 24 hours and then she was fine. Oh good, we thought. All is well.

Saturday afternoon Lori and I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen from lunch when I realized I hadn't heard a word from Savana. She was 12 years old at the time, a bundle of energy, and one rarely could be in her presence without hearing her. I don't know if it was the mom thing or what, but suddenly I knew: Oh. No. Savana is sick. I did a quick run through the house and found her on Lori's white couch, the look of death on her face. I grabbed a blanket as I could see that at any second she was going to blow...Aim for the blanket, Savana! Aim for the blanket! She went off like a hose and aimed everywhere...except for the blanket. And the good news? Savana had eaten what appeared to be buckets of strawberries.

Yeah.

So much for the white couch. Lori said it was never the same.

After that? They started dropping like flies. It was one of those stomach bugs that hit with a vengeance and there was no making it to the bathroom. When someone went down for the count, they grabbed a bucket of sorts and found a place on the floor to moan and roll around in misery until the magical 24 hours passed and they felt remarkably better.

Gary, my brother in law at the time, was determined that he would not get it and he went around with antibacterial spray, spraying doorknobs and faucets and everything that he could find to spray. But a couple of days later we found him huddled in his closet, a blanket over his head, moaning in misery.

At one point, both Lori and I were down with it and laying on the living room floor right by the door when suddenly we spied Trevor, Lori's youngest son, running through the house with that telltale look on his face. Lori yelled, "Go outside! Go outside!" And he did--ran straight through the front door to the yard while Lori and I laughed in the midst of the stomach pain that engulfed us. What a good mom and auntie we are! But we were so tired of cleaning up vomit that we just couldn't stomach any more...(No pun intended.)

By the time we flew home on the following Friday, that stomach flu managed to go through our family of five, Lori's family of 4, a friend who came to visit and her two boys, and Lori's niece who came to visit and took it home to her family.

Powerful stuff.

The following Thursday, we managed to head to San Francisco for a day of sightseeing. We had  to find lots of places to sit as several of us were still a bit queasy from the week...but it was fun regardless. And then Friday? We flew back home.

We've spent many weeks in California with Lori and her family; however, without a doubt, that week is the most memorable.

In three days we're heading to Florida to experience some sun and beach and dolphins and laughter and games and great food and family.

Hopefully we leave the flu bug at home.

Hopefully.