Moods

I don’t know if it’s the warmer weather, the phase of the moon, or if we’re all being subjected to some sort of pollen toxicity, but everyone in this house (and by everyone, I actually mean everyone in this house with testosterone) has been in a great mood as of late.

The husband offers to do the grocery shopping for me. He hates few places more than he hates the grocery store. The (not-so-brooding) teenager loads the dishwasher without being asked. I cannot figure out what purpose this may serve for him. The youngest man of the house does not complain about homework in the evenings, as does not whine about bedtime. I don’t know what’s up with that, either.

Frankly, it’s all starting to creep me out.

And me? Well, I’m feeling rather cranky. I’m trying to finish up week two of an arthritis flare-up. It’s not BAD—not debilitating, by any means. It’s just annoying as all hell, and that makes me cranky. Combine it with students fresh from spring break and ready to hit the ground running, and you can add a touch of frazzled to the cranky and annoyed combo platter.

The good news is that I think the flare-up is drawing to a close. Arthritis likes to take its time, and so I am being patient. Or trying to be as patient as is possible, for me. I usually only have one major bout each year, so I know that once I am one hundred percent again, I’ll be at that level for a good, long time.

In the meantime—I’m cranky. And worn out. And ravenous—at least four times each day, despite a snacking schedule that could be compared to the day-long grazing habits of some variety of livestock—preferably varieties with more than one stomach. You know you’re ravenous when the boys are all like, “We should get Taco Bell for supper,” and despite the fact that you abhor Taco Bell, you are all like, “YES. Yes, we should get Taco Bell for dinner.” And then you proceed to purchase thirty dollars of food (we have to use the term food in a more figurative sense here) and then proceed to snarf down two burritos AND two tacos in about ten minutes.

The lack of nutritional value in supper that night was counterbalanced by Ant’s creative exercise in story development using the blurbs on each of the Fire sauce packets. Yes, yes he did. He created a story from hot sauce packets. It was about road trips and wanting to sit shotgun in the car.

We sacrificed nutrition for education, and some rather raucous laughter.

After supper the boys amused themselves without the aid of television, for a change. J continued to lament on the fact that no one makes a Jane Austin bobble-head. The he decided to hunt out one for Flo from the Progressive commercials. Again, no luck. K decided to go to bed a few minutes early (show me a teenager who does THAT), since the awe-inspiring thunderstorms the previous night had kept all of us up late into the night. Ant and I read about carnivorous plants (who knew there were so many freaking carnivorous plants?) and it did not result in nightmares, for either of us.

When everyone was bedded down and settled for the night, and the house was once again quiet, I lay in the dark thinking about the day. Nothing big, nothing important—either good or bad—had happened that day. It was an unremarkable day, and yet remarkable, at the same time. A year from now I may not even remember a day like this, and I’m certain there are plenty of days like it in years past that I have forgotten already. Yet, these days are the days, the days filled with simple tasks and small moments taken one at a time, the days that fill up our lives. We do not lurch and jump from one large event to the next; we move fluidly through our lives, chaining the days together. Ultimately, it is the collection of these days that determine how we feel about our existence, that determine our moods, and I find this knowledge comforting. These unremarkable days filled with the smallest of moments are more than enough; they are all that I need.