What is Good Mental Health?

A satisfactory definition of good mental health has been hard for me to find. There's an intangible quality to feeling good that is just elusive. Good mental health, to me, is a sort of integration of emotional well-being, spiritual contentedness, psychological awareness, and intellectual clarity. You know, it's like when you wake up in the morning and you heard your kids arguing but it doesn't bring you down because you know that God is watching out for you and you know that you have the capacity to think through things and manage whatever comes your way. It's like being water. (Yes, I did just quote Bruce Lee. BTW, his delivery is PRICELESS!)

I think I've finally been able to start to define good mental health because I have (finally) experienced it for an extended period of time. Since about half way through my pregnancy, when the psychological tweezing eased up, and especially since the Little Cannoli has been born I have been good. For about the last ten months (the Cannoli is only 7 months old but I felt so good pregnant I'm counting some of that too) I've had a few down days here and there but overall the crazies have not been a defining factor for me.

It has been so freeing.

And restful. Like even when life is busy--and momming four kids creates a lot of busy!--there is a part inside me that is at rest. I might be physically exhausted and mentally spent but I don't want to hide from everything. I want sleep but not escape. The inner turmoil has turn into placidity.

I kind of never believed this was possible. I never believed that I could be one of those people who could be at peace and not kick against the pricks. I pictured my life and future as a constant struggle against the deterioration happening in my mind. I figured I would always be the kind of mommy that my kids would be a little wary of. I figured I would always struggle with Church assignments because there would always be some sort of inner drama draining my energy.

But I'm not. To love and to serve and to just be fully present in my own life is such a gift right now.

I'm sure there are hard times ahead. I'm sure there will be things that set my crazy off again. But I'm really savoring this experience now--I want the memory of this time of my life to be solid--because this is what happy feels like.

On Happiness and Other Fleeting Feelings

My sister posted a moving blog post today, Being Good Enough: How to Separate Who You Are From What You Do, and it's similar to what I've been thinking lately so I wanted to link to her. It gave me courage to post what I've been thinking lately.

Hey Char, "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours first/ Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse/Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words." (source)LOVE you!!

The last five months, since my baby was born, have been months of unparalleled happiness, peace, contentment, and even joy. It's like my life of drab neutrals and spotty dark canvases had turned into Technicolor crosses between Vincent Van Gogh and Mary Cassatt. Being a mom to my four kids was like being Dorothy walking out of that trashed Kansas farmhouse and into Munchkinlad. I didn't know things could be so bright and bouncy and full of life. Sure, the squeaky little voices might get annoying and it's hard not tripping over so many people who are only as tall as your knees, but their vibrancy is astounding.

It took four kids to teach me, but I have finally embraced motherhood. As I hold it close I've discovered how glorious it is. I get what the apostles and prophets talk about it in seeming hyperbolic terms. I get how and why this is God's work and I am crazy-grateful for the opportunity to be part of it. I love it in a fierce and primal way. These children are such gifts and sometimes it almost hurts to be able to bask in their glory. Being a mother is awesome.

As I've come to know these new feelings the closeness I have felt with the Lord has been astonishing. His love for me, His Spirit, has been a bubble around me. It's protected me from sadness and hurt and anger. It's buoyed me up during tempestuous mothering moments that usually sink me. It felt like the Lord was working miracles in my life like He never has before and it made it so I could finally feel comfortable and loved.

And now I feel like that bubble is popping. In small ways (long nights and lack of sleep, forgetting to refill my antidepressant) and in a few spectacular ways (one of my children getting suddenly ill and being hospitalized for two weeks and drama in my extended family) has prodded my happy bubble and it's swelling and turning and I know it's gonna burst.

I'm trying to hold it together but, really, what makes a bubble beautiful is its fragility and fleeting nature. Holding a bubble too tightly, squeezing it, is the thing that is most likely to pop it.

Back when I was in therapy my therapist, Ann, would encourage me to stay in the moment,let the past rest, avoid projecting into the future. I've tried to do that with my happiness--savor it, roll around in it, enjoy it. And I'm trying to be open to what ever is coming next because whatever it is will come and will go and I can't control it. All I can do is experience it. But anything other than the joy I've had feels like failure. Depression feels like failure. I find myself wondering what I've done wrong. Is there some sin that's popping my bubble? Is it my inherently weak and fallen nature that so offends God He can't be with me anymore? Or is it just that cursed opposition in all things coming back to roost? Likely it's some swirling, inconstant, even fleeting, combination of all those things.

But we know that God's love is constant. His desire to bless us is constant. His position as our parent is constant. So maybe even when I am less aware of Him, when my ability to feel Him is diminished, I can remember what His love felt like and it will be okay. I don't have to be anything other than I am for Him to love me.

Post Partum Depression: 1 Month Out

Baby Number 4, who we lovingly refer to as our Little Cannoli, is now more than 1 month old. I am surprised and a little bit glad that the time has gone by so quickly. Usually my first month with a baby is a descent into chaos and I feel like I spend the next year or eighteen months trying to put my universe back together. To have it go by quickly means that I haven't been lost in the time suck that is depression. (Whee!)I think this is due to several exceptional things.

* I'm still taking my Paxil. It was hard to remember to at first. I've been out of the habit and so I was taking it at weird times and missing days--which is a set up for disaster. But then I got an awesome tip: Put your meds by your toothbrush! You almost always remember to brush your teeth and if your meds are in the same cabinet you'll always see them and be reminded to take them.

* I've got a whole lot more knowledge. During the first few weeks, before the meds had kicked in, I had a few suicidal thoughts (no plans, just lots of negative thinking like I didn't deserve to live and my family would be better off without me because there is no way I would ever be able to be a good mom to this baby) but they were fleeting and usually disappeared if I took a nap. I know about the link between sleep deprivation and PPD so I could take action rather than get stuck in an unproductive mental/emotional thought cycle. I also had a fair amount of intrusive thoughts. Mostly violent ones, like every time I walked up or down the stairs I would see my baby flying down them and splitting her head open or breaking her neck. They were scary but I knew what they were (hormonal misfires in my brain) and could move on instead being consumed by them. I still have some of the intrusive thoughts--I've acquired a whole new repertoire surrounding actual glass glasses--so I'm not sure if I should up my meds or not. I'll ask my psych when I see her.

* I've had a whole lot of support.
I've had offers from both sides of the family to help out with the kids (even though they all live hundreds of miles away!). We got lots of meal from the ladies at Church. And close friends were sensitively checking in on my mental state--friends who had been there--which meant a lot to me. I'm actually still with my mom and dad and it is great. Being with them for the last couple weeks has alleviated so much stress from my mind. I've gotten more sleep and I've been able to conquer caring for all four kids in small bites. I just feel like I've had adequate time to acclimate to the whole situation and actually bond with my baby instead of feeling overwhelmed and destroyed. I keep telling my mom that this time has been such an indescribable gift.

Actually, this whole experience feels like a gift. I'm surprised how sad I am that this is my last little baby. I'll never have another four week old to nuzzle and smell and cuddle. And I always thought that when that time came I'd be glad because it would mean freedom was on the horizon. But I don't feel free. It feels like a loss.

I think some of my feelings of loss are me mourning my previous post partum experiences. Sometimes as I'm nursing or rocking the Little Cannoli part of my mind will go back to when Number 1 or Number 2 were babies and I'll relive those experiences. Part of me will be feeling the frustration of trying to get Number 1 to latch on, or more like the echoes of that frustration, and the other part of me will be so grateful that the Little Cannoli nurses so nicely and then I'll remember (or possibly rewrite) a moment when Number 1 was nursing well. And then the frustration melts a little and the memory loses some of its sting. I'm sure there's some sort of name for that process, but for me letting go of some of that is, well, a gift.

It's also a gift to see my older three, who I struggled with so intensely, being kind and soft and patient with the newest sibling. It reminds me that even if things were rocky when they were born their lives have been filled with love and that things are going to work out.

I'm not projecting into the future. After we get home from my mom's things could fall apart or they could be fabulous. Odds are life will be a mix of stress and fun and disasters and peace. But I'm not trying to figure those out. I'm just here, loving my baby and enjoying my kids. Because they are all gifts--gifts that I am just now starting to see clearly.

The Final Countdown!

Hi folks!

Sorry I've been negligent blogger. But, well, a lot has been going on.

The big news: 2 weeks ago we moved. Hooray! Even though our new house is only a few miles away from our old house, it was still a crazy amount of work. Even with the 15 people who helped out from our ward, it was still a huge job. Two weeks into the new place we are figuring out where to put things, but the kids seem to have acclimated now so that's good.

(Tangentially related anecdote: Yesterday my four-year-old and my two-year-old got into a fight about whether or not we could still rightfully call our new house "new". The two-year-old is stubborn and illogical and would probably call it our "new" house forever. The four-year-old is also stubborn but is beginning to grasp a few logical concepts. She figured that since we've been in the house for "like a hundred days" no one was allowed to call it the "new" house any more. Cause "one hundred days is a super long time." The argument was never settled but it seems to indicate that they are all figuring things out in their own way.)

I think I'm feeling more settled too. For the most part, my stress level has gone way down since moving day and the contractions have slowed. The doctor wanted me on bed rest until 37 weeks and I've done my best to only tackle small projects around the house.

The other big news: I'm 37 weeks pregnant! Full term!! Hooray!

Technically I can be done with the bed rest now, but I don't actually want this baby to come quite yet. Taking care of a newborn is waaaay harder than being pregnant and I would like to get a bit more unpacking taken care of before Number Four makes her debut. Besides, we don't even know what we want to name her yet. Doesn't that mean she should wait just a little longer? However, we did find the baby clothes and blankets the other day so that's good.

One more item to catch up on:

*The psychological tweezing. Ever since I posted about this back in January I've been meaning to follow up but at a loss as to how. The most I can say about it now is that it was a harrowing process and left me exhausted. Once we put our house back on the market and things started picking up with the sale of our home and finding a new house the psychological tweezing eased. I had more than enough other stuff to occupy my brain and emotions. (Just as a side note, everyone should have to go house hunting with a pregnant woman. You've never seen emotional ups and downs like the ones I pulled. It made me a very discriminating buyer. *Wink, wink*) Since things have started to settled some of the memories/flashbacks and emotions have started to crop up again, but I've mostly been ignoring it. I don't feel ready to go back to that yet. And, as several of you readers suggested, I would probably benefit from some therapeutic help with the next round. EFT, you know the crazy tapping and muttering that isn't actually crazy, would probably be beneficial and I think that might be a good route to take next. I just don't know when I'll be ready to pursue it.

One more thing to catch up on: Being pregnant with a history of depression.

I really thought that I would spend a lot of time during this pregnancy blogging about being pregnant and depressed. Perinatal depression is real and frustrating and it's a subject that could certainly use more writing and thinking done about it. I had planned on contributing my own two cents to the whole thing, but it just didn't work out that way.

The weird part is that I haven't been as depressed this time. It's been an emotional time for me (duh!) but the emotions haven't been paralyzing like they have in the past. They've been intense and painful but they haven't gotten stuck. I've met with my psychiatrist and my therapist periodically and they both agree that I'm NOT depressed. I'm just dealing with some very, very real emotional stuff.

This really is a blessing, this whole not depressed thing. I kind of don't know what to make of it. When I was pregnant with Baby Number Three, Mr. J, I had such a hard time with anger and with feelings of defeat. But not this time.

I think things might be different this time in part because of the psychological tweezing and in part because of the increased support from family and friends. I've finally let my family in on a little of what's been going on and they have been so supportive. I can feel the powers of their prayers and how hard they are pulling for me. The same goes for friends. I've always struggled to maintain friendships but at this point in my life I have a few people I honestly believe like me and will predictably be there for me--even when I have nothing to offer them--and they will be caring and discreet and respectful about it. That is such a gift. Of course, my therapist and my psychiatrist are part of that support system too. It's always nice to have an objective, experienced individual to offer perspective when you need it.

I think another part of it is that I've quit trying to forecast the future. I used to spend a lot of time worrying about what all of this would mean down the road and trying to control long term outcomes. My therapist likes to remind me that no matter how much I think/worry/obsess about the future I actually have little control over it. I don't think I've mastered that ultimate zen ability of "living in the moment" but I do think my present has finally begun to outweigh my past and my future in importance and that has brought a great amount of relief. It's so much simpler to focus on today and the upcoming week and month rather than years ahead or behind me. I hope it's a way of thinking that I can hold on to.

Thanks for sticking this out with me and for being a part of my journey. I appreciate your comments and insights. This blog is definitely part of the support system that's been buoying me up.

Have a happy week!

I'll definitely post when I go into labor. Okay, well, I'll definitely TRY to post when I go into labor :)

The Importance of Revisionist History (or, why I scrapbook)

Okay. I'll admit it. I'm what self-help books refer to as a "negative first reactor". (I actually got that term from one of my favorite parenting books, Raising Your Spirited Child, by Mary Kurcinka. I loved it because it talked about how my feelings and attitudes interacted with my kids' feelings and attitudes. Lots of self-insight there!)

"So what is a negative first reactor?" you say. Here's an example: my trip to NYC with my sister Charlotte so we could be on TV. The trip was an absolute surprise and thanks to the way TV works I had no time to think about it or process the whole thing until I was alone in a hotel room staring down at the 1:00 am milieu that is Times Square. I started to shudder and backed away from the window. I frantically phoned Charlotte--our cell phones are more like walky-talkies than anything else--while I lay in the fetal position on the bed. It had all happened so fast and I just kept wondering what I had been thinking.



Charlotte eventually arrived and we spent the night plucking my eyebrows (which always need a good weed whacking) and planning what we were going to say on the show the next day. We woke up early and helped each other get ready. We laughed when we realized we had unintentionally bought matching pants. We giggled when our driver opened our doors for us. We gagged when we realized how much make-up they had put on us. We pulled faces at each other when we thought the cameras weren't on us (they were). After the show, we wandered around Times Square for three hours gawking at all the weirdos (you've heard of the Naked Cowboy, right?) and stopping in all the shops. We ate the famous ice cream and posed with giant toys. The only thing we didn't do was take in a Broadway show (there wasn't time), but I did tap dance on 42nd street :)

When we were saying goodbye at the airport she asked me if I was glad I had come. I couldn't answer her. My first reaction was no. I had hated New York. It was all materialistic and shallow and loud and, well, cement. I swear we didn't see a living plant anywhere. We could barely see the sky above the massive, moving billboards Yuck.




That was in April. Now, fast forward to a few weeks ago. Winkflash was having a deal so I decided to get my pics printed and try to catch up my scrapbook. As I looked through the folder that had our pics from New York I found myself smiling. Then when the pictures arrived in the mail, I found myself laughing. It was such a crazy thing to do! It was great story to tell people! It was fun! I was glad I had gone! As I scrapbooked the pictures, the happy memories grew stronger and the frustrated, scary moments faded.

I've had similar experiences with pictures of my kids. While many of my memories of the months after my first baby was born are frightening, looking at her scrapbook reminds me that not every moment was bad; I wasn't always a screw up. The process of choosing my favorite pictures, handling them, cropping them, gluing them, decorating them has become a celebratory process. It gives me the opportunity to go through my memories and examine them and, well, rewrite them. Leafing through the books with my children reminds me that our family is good family--even if we have problems. My scrapbooks give me back the feelings and experiences that my depression erases.



How do you restore your perspective? What things do you do to help you combat those nagging, ever-present negative impulses?

Cymbalta Update

Here's the way my new depression medication was explained to me:

Imagine your depressed brain is the side of barn. On that barn there are three targets. These three targets are the neurotransmitter receptors for seratonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine. Antidepressants are like arrows being shot at the targets. Taking Lexapro, an SSRI, was like firing an arrow at the same spot on the seratonin target over and over. It works for awhile, but eventually you've shot arrows at the one spot for so long there's nothing left to hit. That part of the target is just a hole. If you switch to a different SSRI it aims at another part of the seratonin target and can help alleviate depression symptoms. That still leaves the other two targets untouched. What you do with those target depends on your symptoms. For me, my depression involves a lot of anxiety and intrusive thoughts so I needed the SSRI to take the edge off the anxiety but I needed something more for the intrusive thoughts. The psychiatrist I met with recommended Cymbalta because it is a SNRI (seratonin-norepinephrine reuptakte inhibitor). It works on two targets at once.

I started taking the Cymbalta on the 15th of July and the intrusive thoughts stopped after about a week. After about two weeks I noticed that I was hvaing more fun with my kids. I didn't mind playing on the floor with them or horsing around as much. I seemed to have more patience. Also at around two weeks I began feeling motivated to do housework (much to my husband's delight!). I'd never given up completely on the housework but I always found it overwhelming and it took a lot energy to work up to doing it. I could never figure out where to start and I spent a lot of time feeling distracted and forgetting what I was working on. After the Cymbalta had begun to kick in I was able to focus better and keep the house cleaner. (Notice I didn't say it was clean, just cleaner. If I could only get my kids to put their toys away!) I also started sleeping a lot deeper and would actually wake up refreshed on occasion. I've had a few crazy dreams. My favorite one was when I dreamed that my husband had to take all my friends as plural wives. It quickly turned into some sort of bizarre, pioneer-era Bachelorette show with me constantly protesting, "I get to be the first wife because I already had his children!" Like I said, CRAZY dreams. Anyway, Over the last week I've noticed an uptick in my energy level. I've even started working on my book again.

So that's all the good. Now here's the bad. The list of side effects for Cymbalta includes: nausea, increased sleepiness, and increased sweating. I have all those. So much so that I took a pregnancy test just to make sure I didn't have an accidental bun in the oven. (I don't. Thank goodness! I'm just not ready for more kids yet . . .) The nausea has been manageable but it still surprises me. The sleepiness has been almost comical. For the first week or so I HAD to nap every afternoon. One day I sat down to rewind a movie for the kids and just konked out. When I woke up two hours later my 2 1/2 year old was buck naked and snuggled up next to me eating candy while watching the credits roll. My five year old was just relaxing on the couch and my one year old was still napping, but I could tell I'd missed something. I'm still pretty sleepy but if I keep working I can get through it. It's odd to me that I'm sleepy but I have the motivation (and sometimes the energy) to do so much more housework and stuff. The sweatiness is, um, really kind of gross. I have to keep a towel nearby when I work out and I'm betting our electric bill will go up since I've been using the air conditioner a lot more. Oh, and I'm thirsty all the time.

When all is said and done I'm glad that I started the new medicine. It's been good to feel more functional and I just feel more relaxed since I'm not constantly combatting images of knives and blood (those are the intrusive thoughts). But the side effects are enough to make me want to wean off this as soon as possible. Which I think means at least six months. Maybe a year. The psychiatrist I meant with says maybe never. For now, I'm just taking it one day at a time.

Mmm . . .Cilantro . . .mmm

Nothing says summer like fresh herbs and salad--which is exactly what came in my first CSA box. Actually, it was a lot of salad. As in five heads. Half our box. The other half was spinach and cilantro. There were also a few onions, some celery, rhubarb, and garlic scapes. Most of the lettuce I gifted to some neighbors since there is no way our family could eat five heads in one week. Well, we could try but we'd probably make ourselves sick. (Salad shooter, anyone? Sorry. It's an old joke that Husband's family used to tell.) Most of the spinach I froze because I use it in everything from meatloaf to spaghetti to omelets. The rhubarb got made into freezer jam (which was so simple it was like falling off a horse. That was a bad analogy. Quick, somebody call the analogy police!). The onions and celery I just stuck in the fridge. There were only a few scapes so I figured I'd just use them like regular garlic.

That left the cilantro. A lot of cilantro. Between what I harvested from our own herb garden and the pile we got in our box I had a large mixing bowl full of the fragrant greens. Calling allrecipes.com!

I am not so good in the kitchen. I don't so much cook as I experiment. So, allrecipes.com is a must for me. I love their website but, truth to be told, I have a hard time telling a good recipe from a bad one. I am also willing to eat any number of new foods--as long as they involve lots of veggies. Cilantro, me, and allrecipes.com are a match made in heaven (or spirit prison, depending on how you feel about cilantro). Anyway, I found a couple recipes I liked: Cilantro Lime Dressing and Cilantro Pesto. My whole family liked the dressing, except for Number 1 who categorically hates cilantro. The pesto was a toss up. I enjoyed it, as did Number 2 and Number 3. The baby actually had two helpings. But Husband did not. And of course, Number 1 categorically hates cilantro so you can guess what she had to say.

I bring all this up for two reasons. 1)To give you all relief from the pity party I've been holding for my poor, hormonal self. 2) Because it made me happy! Honestly, I was surprised how much the kitchen activity lifted my spirits. Maybe it was just the energy of the chopping and rinsing or maybe all the good herby smells (anyone else read this article about pot and depression?), but I felt better. So who knows. Maybe the next time you're feeling down spend some time "experimenting" (or actually cooking, if you are that good!)in the kitchen. It just might help--especially if you use chocolate!

Like a little seed

(I know, two posts in two days! It boggles the mind! Anyway. . .)

I love to watch things grow. I would say that I love to garden, but I don't actually garden. People who garden know plant varieties and sow their seeds in neat little rows and mounds. They understand terms like "vermiculite" and "drip system". They actually spend time on their knees weeding. I don't do any of that.

What I do do is watch things grow. Every spring, as I anxiously wait for the robins to return and the buds to appear on my trees, I find myself going outside and poking the ground. I go around to the different parts of my yard to see if any of them have softened yet. As little green daffodil shoots pop out of my dirt a primal urge awakens inside me. I must start digging. Of course, the dirt it is still frozen solid and out here in Colorado the frost danger doesn't disappear until May so my desire is thwarted.

It is then that I go to the greenhouse. My kids run in crazy circles while I stand in the humid mist and soak up the bright colors. Soon, I soothe myself, soon. I pick up packets of seeds like they are loaves of bread and I am in Communist Russia. Greedily I hoard the spinach, the peas, the basil. These are the seeds that I can never get enough of, that the stores always run out of. I pick up pumpkins and zucchini, cucumbers and cantaloupe, fantasizing about their colors and smells. Then I take them home and, counting the packets, I wait.

Finally, in late April, I can dig. I buy bag after bag of mushroom compost waking up my muscles as I heft them around the yard. I pull out our bags of leaves from last fall. I bury my nose their scent, letting it wash over me as if it were Chanel No. 5. I start digging up the compost pile, ignoring the rank globs that fall on my feet. I dump and mix and dig and sweat. This is what is means to be alive.

Everything is ready to plant. I check my strawberries to make sure they have the room they need and that their runners are all running in the right direction. I tuck my tomato starts in, folding some compost around their roots for extra comfort. The zucchini, pumpkins, squash, cucumbers and melons all get plopped in their own areas two or three seeds at time just in case one decides not to wake up this year. Broccoli, radishes, spinach and carrots are sprinkled willy-nilly across the shadier portions of the garden. Their seeds cross paths in the air and I have to smooth them down into the dirt to make sure the birds don't eat them. My kids, caught up in the excitement, dig and plant with me glorying in every worm and marveling at each ant. It takes at least a week, sometimes more, to get every thing in the ground.

We water and wait. We water and talk. Please little plants, grow, grow, grow. It is like a prayer and my heart is anxious. What if they don't sprout? What will our summer be without these plants?

Then, every morning is like my birthday. It's like a scavenger hunt as we search the ground for new sprouts. We count them and celebrate them. As my garden fills with shoots and leaves I am filled with child-like awe at the resiliency of our earth. No matter how cold the winter, no matter how late the frost, no matter how hard the earth, new life comes. Each plant is a revelation--a testimony. And I was lucky enough to be a part of it.

From there it is wildness. I relinquish control. Some years I forget to cage my tomatoes and they grow up and out and down and everywhere, romas mixing with cherries mixing with beefsteak. The pumpkins and zucchini and cucumbers battle for ground and eventually grow in and through each other. Spinach and broccoli and carrots all grow together like the salad they are. The peas and strawberries come up quick and sweet and are eaten so fast they never make it into the house. Every time a leaf is lifted it reveals a different treasure.

From my garden I harvest more than food. It allows God to work His will in my life in one more way. My plants grow faith and happiness, making what is intangible real. I cannot be thankful enough.

Do any of you guys watch things grow like I do? What have you planted this year?

The Good Days

Today is May 1st and it is snowing. Big soapsud flakes falling from dense, gray clouds are covering my newly greened grass. In our morning family prayer I thanked the Lord for the snow because it would make our spring plants prettier--there IS a method to this elemental madness.

I feel like I blog a lot about the bad days (and if you want more bad days read here. That feels good. You know, getting the feelings out of my head makes them less overwhelming. And the process of articulation always facilitates revelation, so that's worthwhile. But, on some bad days, what helps is to remember the good days. So that's what I'm going to try to do today. If the bad days feel like never-ending roller coasters and deep pits of angry water, what do the good days feel like?

The good days are like cotton candy: light and colorful and sweet. The good feelings dissolve through my body like sugar on the tongue.

The good days make me feel like a kid tucked into my mom's bed: everthing is so big and comfy that I never want to get out. It's almost like magic because I can jump and roll and even do sommersaults and still be surrounded by softness.

The good days are like a good book: I get absolutely lost in it and when it's over I wish it wasn't. It leaves me wanting more.

The good days are like my children's laughter: spontaneous, infectious, and sometimes gone too soon.

The good days are like sunshine: they make everything clearer and brighter. So many things look better by daylight.


So tell me what are your good days like?