What’s Under Where?

Six year olds. They’re funny little creatures, constantly dabbling in the humor pool even though they can’t yet swim in the deep. Mine came home with a real side-splitter today. He said, ‘Mom what’s under there?’. I mindlessly answered, ‘What’s under where?’, to which he could barely articulate his punch line through the belly laughs… ‘UNDERWEAR!!!’.

Of course, I responded in the typical parental way. I mustered a chuckle & rolled my eyes unenthusiastically. It may have been humorous had I not been (at the same exact time of his telling) running a chicken race, from stove & oven, to grill, to dryer, to pulling the dog out of the trash again & cleaning up wrapper trails strategically strewn through the house. Ahhhh. At least we all ate a good well balanced dinner; all three people and one victorious Hayley dog with an olive oil glued green bean beard. Hey, all girls need accessories!

This is a typical day, with typical humor, typical dog behavior, and typical mommy eye rolls. Yesterday was not. Yesterday was one of those grumpy days that we all have, but no one wants to admit to having, especially when we’re on a pursuit of happiness. Whether we admit to them or not, however, they’re bound to happen. I’ve posted before about changing our thoughts, or the wording of our thoughts, so that we feel the hopefulness instead of the hopelessness of a situation. Today, I’m back to agreeing with that strategy. Yesterday, there was absolutely no jumping over the hurdle of negativity to get there. It was simply too high, and only one thing can explain such insurmount-ability; the wrong side of the bed.

That’s what’s under there. Under where? Under the bed. That’s where my thankfuls landed yesterday. I write five of them before touching the first foot to the ground each day. Usually, I carry them with me along with all the other baggage. Yesterday, I must have dropped them.

At least I remembered my underwear. For that I am both thankful and humored, which is where my six year old finally rolls his eyes.

 

 

 

 

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