Finding Joy

January is hard. I’ve nattered on alluded to this before—it’s the cold, dark, dreariness and the natural letdown from the holidays. It’s a time when the workload increases, things must be done, and problems arise (both at home and at work). It has none of the fun of spring bursting forth in blooms and the earth smelling alive, or patio escapades in summer twilight, or crisp mornings ablaze in autumnal color.

This January-- despite the almost lack of cold temperatures and definite lack of major schedule-crushing snowstorms-- has not been any different. Illness is running rampant-- at work, at school.  I sit in a state of perpetual anxiety as to when the germs will descend upon our house. Other issues need to be taken care of. Problems arise.

Did I say that already? About the problems? If I didn’t, let me tell you, it’s like we go on a problem hiatus during the holidays and then we play catch-up during the month of January. Everyone forgoes problems in the spirit of holiday cheer and good will and then we get slammed immediately afterwards.

Our evenings, after busy days at work and school, consists of laundry and dishes and phone calls to sick loved ones. It involves changing schedules and dinner preparations and homework meltdowns.

I won’t delve deeply into it now but the overwhelming consensus from Ant has been that third grade is not enjoyable, and of all the things in third grade that are not enjoyable, writing is the worst. Granted, some of the older kids are now testing out their meanness, and topics of inquiry in 3^rd grade are less than interesting to him, but writing, by far, is the worst. What makes writing the worst? The surprise writing prompt. Funny—how I seem to enjoy writing prompts, and poor Ant’s mind goes blank as he stares at the unwritten page, trying to figure out how he will wrap his mind around an in-class writing exercise.

It’s to the point that I fret and worry about his progress in school, and I hope that somehow, somewhere, we find the spark that gets him back on the right track before detrimental consequences occur. I know in my rational mind that he will likely be okay, but in my mother’s heart, I worry about him and how we’ve done a 180 on school this year. Our main goal has now become to get him through this year relatively unscathed—and we fight for it on a daily basis, let me tell you.

This is the point where if we were having a face-to-face conversation, I would sigh and you would sigh, and not knowing what to say next, we would give the topic the moment of silence it deserves and then go about our days, but there’s so much more to it than that.

Tonight, as we sat down after dinner—when the dishes were going and the laundry was put away and the homework was done—we had this moment, and it struck me that it was a perfect moment; a joyful moment. K was playing guitar downstairs. I sat with a book. Ant was playing computer games with J. The TV wasn’t on. We were all in the same room, we were all aware of each other: present in each other's company. It lasted for 30 minutes—perfectly comfortable in one another’s company. It’s THIS that sets my soul at ease and brings my nerves back from their frayed edge.

We had another moment like this on Sunday morning—when Ant and J decided it was imperative that we attempt to grow our own cherry trees from the pits of eaten cherries. The likelihood this will actually work—well, it’s not high. Still, all of us gathered to collect our supplies and google information and then actually plant. We now have four pots lined up on the ledge of the kitchen counter, just waiting for something to sprout. It was joyful perfection.

I never expected—when I became a mother, or even when I was a mother to small children—that these small things-- simple, comfortable, easy-- would be what made it all worth it. Those small, unscripted moments when we can be ourselves with one another, with no additional expectations, are what bring me joy. I’ve spent plenty of free time trying to figure out what it all means and what it’s all worth; in life and in parenting. I listened to others say similar things and believed them—even when I couldn’t see it from my perspective. Now I know it’s true. If I could only have all of us in the same room-- that comfortable, that easy, that carefree—for every moment of my life, every moment of my life would be pure joy. 

This post was written from the prompt, "What brings you joy in good times (and bad)?"  at Mama Kat's Pretty Much World Famous Writer's Workshop.