An errant elbow to my back jolted me awake. Before adrenaline could rush to every extremity, I remembered bringing Strawbaby into our bed hours earlier after she’d woken from a nightmare. I not so secretly love having her in bed with Miguel and I. Jackson has never been one to ask to sleep in our bed and while I often slept in Adelaide’s bed with her, she rarely slept with us.

And yet, as much as I love having a child beside me, I do not need to share a pillow with them. I rolled over and kissed the back of Strawbaby’s curly brown head before trying to reposition in the center of the bed.

“Mommy, stop kissing me!”

“But I just love you so much. Can you move back on to your pillow?”

“Ok…” Then a few seconds later, “Mommy, I’m awake.”

I figured that was coming. The morning light was filtering in through the window above our bed. I estimated it was around 6:45am, maybe 7:00am. As I was convincing my body to rise for the day, Miguel stirred on his uninvaded far side of the bed.

“You want eggies for breakfast?” Miguel asked Strawbaby.

“Yes!” She said exploding from under the covers. Miguel scooped her up.

“No! I want Mommy!” Strawbaby protested, reaching back for me. I quickly closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“Let’s let Mommy rest. How about some chocolate cereal too?”

And before I knew it I was alone in our bed being lulled back to sleep by the din of a day starting below me. To be clear, this rarely happens. Miguel gets home late from the theater, so I get up with the kids in the morning. Also, Strawbaby is adamant about sticking to routines and will often scream should I not be the one with her in the morning. This morning, though, she relented.

By the time I made it downstairs, showered (alone!), dressed and ready to bring Strawbaby to preschool, Miguel had served breakfast and was nearly done making the kids' lunches. Jackson was sitting at the breakfast bar practicing multiplication tables and Strawbaby was preparing cupcakes in her play kitchen for a foot tall T-Rex toy that was patiently waiting on the floor next to a Halloween dish towel that was doubling as a tablecloth. What was this sorcery? Even on the rare days that Miguel gets up with the kids he usually forgets to make their lunches and everyone is screaming and scrambling to get dressed and find shoes before we’re late for drop-off and I end up wishing I had just woken up when I usually do.

To add to my wonder, Strawbaby willingly put on her shoes AND got in her car seat. No negotiations necessary! Halfway to school, when Lizzo came on the radio, it was definitely time for an in-your-seat booty-shaking dance party. After a couple of difficult weeks, happiness had found its way back to me. Albeit heavily assisted by some thoughtful acts of service from Miguel and agreeable children - but happiness all the same.

The more I analyze my life and moods - the more I accept and even seek happiness - the more I realize that my happiest moments are not the life changing, milestone ones, but those that are more subtle. They are sitting on our back patio watching Jackson push Strawbaby on the swing and any night where we get to sit down to eat dinner as a family and no one is complaining about what I’ve made. They can certainly be helped along and facilitated by others (thank you, Miguel) but I have to notice them. To appreciate them.

I’m also learning to accept that these moments are fleeting. That feeling of unadulterated happiness lasts only as long as I’m able to hold on to it and unfortunately, life gets in the way. Still, I want to do a better job of remembering them – of recording them. I’m thinking of starting a bliss journal where all I do is record these moments so that I can go back to them when I need to most. So often, I dwell on the difficult and the negative moments – in part because I need to in order to work through them. But they can also pull me under like quicksand. Last week I found myself deeper in the sand than I had in ages. I tried giving in to it, fighting against it and everything in between but, no matter what, I kept sinking. I needed someone or something to pull me out.

I can’t always, nor do I want to rely on others to rescue me. It would be amazing if this was something I could have more control over. Maybe, in the same way that writing through my grief has helped me process it, writing down and re-reading these moments of bliss is a way I can haul myself out of the sand. Or, it’s possible I’ll rage against my former happiness and want to burn the journal in defiance. Unclear which way it will go. I’ll be sure to let you know, though.

Image description: Kelly wearing a tan dress with leggings holding a purple umbrella against a pink backdrop with flowers raining down against it.