Happiness

The Boy and I finally put up the tree last night (We have a fake tree because C is allergic to certain kinds of pine, and even though we're divorced I really don't want to see him end up in the ER because of the tree. AGAIN.), and I'm pleased to announce that my idea of loading it up with cinnamon-scented pine cones to repel the cats seems to be a success. And it looks so full and pretty that I'm tempted to leave off the rest of the decorations, and just have it as it is, with lights and the pine cones.

I had a moment of total happiness and contentment last night once we decided to take a break from the decorating. The Boy had been to an ice skating party after school and was tired and getting sort of saggy, so turned out all the lights but the tree, cuddled up on the couch with a blanket and the cats, and watched some of the DVD set about the Steelers' super bowl championships we borrowed from the library.

I was warm and comfortable, enjoying being cozy with my favorite person in the world, on my new couch in a room made beautiful by Christmas lights, and watching a surprisingly interesting and well-made program on TV. I was happy. And I was lucky enough to have recognized it. I may be fat and broke, and frustratingly unable to find a job as a librarian, but . . . my life is a happy one.