I find that a great deal of the joy I feel as a parent is
from seeing my kids happy. There is something so pure and satisfying about
making another person, in particular my own child, feel happiness. Often times,
this may or may not come at the parent’s (my) expense. Think: long hours on
your feet in the blistering heat at Disneyland, waiting in the single-longest
line that exists on the planet simply to briefly rub elbows with Merida, the
princess from Brave. Or: Christmas Eve, when though you are exhausted to your
core and your fingers bleed from wrapping, and really you just want to sleep
off all the sugar cookies you just ate… you stay up 4 additional hours to make
sure the morning will yield the ultimate in joy. This is what we do. And it
truly brings immeasurable happiness to see the look of utter elation on a child’s
face.
So today is Quincy’s day to celebrate her birthday with her
friends. Yes, her *actual* birthday was January 26. That was 5 weeks ago, if
you’re counting. When you’re the second child of four, these things happen. I
tell myself, in our world of instant gratification and over abundance, it is
actually a good thing to make a child wait a bit to celebrate her birthday. It’s
okay to wait for things sometimes. But this is only how I make myself feel
better because really, I haven’t been
able to wrap my brain around letting 6 ten-year-olds spend the night, when I
know good and darn well it will mean little to no sleep for them, Owen and/or
me.
But tonight it’s on. Til the break of dawn – literally… And
my Quinny girl is happy. And that makes me very, very happy.
*Also, it makes me happy that I have the type of husband who
took all 7 girls to buy a treat and is currently at the Lego movie with them,
while I stay home to (have a glass of wine) bake the cakes they will soon be decorating.
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