Camping with my boys, May 2011
10 a.m., heating up my coffee, my house quiet and peaceful. The baby asleep for his morning nap, Elan at school.
I've already been out in the windy, sunny morning - dropping Elan off at preschool, him running right in, immediately absorbed by some glue-intensive art activity, walking to the Cheeseboard to buy challah and a morning treat, Emry in the Ergo, dropping my chin into his fuzzy baby head simply to inhale him.
Mikhail's at work, exciting and full of promise, a day of interesting meetings. My week has been busy with negotiating new childcare arrangements and my own work, both of which have gone well. My body is sore just the right amount from Zumba class. It's Friday, and the week feels like a triumph. I take a deep breath, smell my coffee, savor the moment.
And it strikes me: this feeling of fullness, of contentment, the ability to breathe deeply, this moment in which I have everything I've worked so hard over the last few years to attain -- it's happiness.
"I'm happy," I think. The joy of it, to be able to say those words to myself, unprompted, just an ordinary, extraordinary Friday morning.