"It's a Good Day"

I hate to admit this, but I have to try really hard to not be "the glass is half-empty" kind of person. It probably has to do with the anxiety I sometimes experience and how I like to jump to the worst conclusion because I can't keep my mind from racing. The point is that I realize I have that tendency- however and whenever I developed it- and it's something I don't care to pass on to either of my kids (among other traits). Parenthood is awesome in that it gives you this clean slate to work with (make that awesome and scary as hell). But I believe that optimism is a seed that, if planted early and cultivated over time, produces a perspective- and ultimately a life- of gratitude.

A few months ago, Jake started a ritual with Ella at her bedtime that when we tuck her in bed, we say, "today was a good day." We start listing things off the top of our heads about why that day was a good day- things we did, people we saw, what we're thankful for. And every single time I turn out the light and close the door, I'm reminded that our list is infinitely longer than the five or six reasons we named at bedtime- a roof over our head, clean water to drink, our health, a refrigerator and pantry full of food, to name only a few. If we never had play-dates and ice cream and trips to the swimming pool, life would still be awesome. So this exercise is just as much a reminder to mommy and daddy as it is to Ella, and eventually Milo.

But I confess that, even given all of the good things we have, it's tough to do this some days. As much as I want to say that I live in this place of gratitude and contentment, I often don't. I'm usually all too ready to have my "this day can SUCK IT" pity party when Milo won't nap and Ella has whined all morning or when the day doesn't go as I've planned. It's hard to lay Ella down in her bed only moments after a major meltdown when I've lost my temper and raised my voice and still be able to say, "today was a good day."

But it is. Even when there are umpteen timeouts. Even when there are tears and arguments and mommy fails. Even when my hair is greasy and I haven't had a shower. This is an exhausting season that will pass. But years from now, when there are heartbreaks, bad grades, and general teen angst, I still want to be able to say this to them. Because if they don't hear it from me or Jake, I fear that they may not learn to look past the trivial things- (the things that I'm guilty of allowing to get my own panties in a wad) and appreciate that every, single day is a good day. If you're alive and breathing and you are loved, it's a good day. End of story. It doesn't mean there isn't pain. It doesn't mean that some days aren't excruciatingly hard. Learning what it means to live in tension is truly difficult, and I'll be the first to admit that I have yet to master it. Finding something beautiful on the other side of it might be even harder. But it's a lesson worth learning- and for me, it's a lesson worth instilling in my children. Pain and beauty are never mutually exclusive.

Inevitably, there will be things I won't be able give to my kids, but I hope that perspective isn't one of them. I want them to see that they truly have everything if they can learn to see the world through "the glass if half full" eyes.