Never Postpone Joy

There is a reason that my toilet needs to be cleaned and it is afternoon jaunts with my family. On bicycle, we take our hammocks to the park and string them up to lounge in the late afternoon heat. Laurel dances between us, climbing in one hammock and then back out again on her way to the other. Another day, we go to Phipps Conservatory and look at orchids and butterflies, in the soothing background noise of greenhouse fans and water fountains. We fingerpaint on the front porch and pin down our wet paintings with flower pots, to dry in the breeze.

My toilet needs to be cleaned and my end-of-school paperwork isn't done yet and somebody should cook dinner.

But instead, we choose this.

I can always tell when I have forgotten to prioritize joy because little things bother me. When I choose joy it doesn't matter if it's too hot to sleep comfortably or the laundry piles up or Laurel has a tantrum. All of that still feels like a blessing.

I have no memories of life before the age of four. My first memory is the color of the carpet in the house we lived in when my brother was born. I don't remember him, but I remember the carpet. And the brassy gold color of a tv cart.

So it would be silly for me to say that all this choosing joy is because of Laurel. She won't remember it. It's really because of me, and for me. Being a mother means making a million decisions a day for the good of your child. Diapers or underwear? Mac and cheese again? How to explain Jesus? Lights out now or one more story?

But in the midst of all that, I'm grounded in all these joyful moments, sprinkled throughout my days.It doesn't make it easier to make a decision, necessarily, but it does keep things in perspective.