1 and 2 and perhaps a short 3

1
One evening last week, I was lying on my stomach on a blanket in the front yard reading a book. It was gorgeous outside, breezy but not windy. My littlest one was asleep in his bed for the night. Charlie was inside entertaining himself as he is sometimes so good at doing. And Johnny. He's what got me out there, and he was running around. He would stop occasionally to jump onto my back and say "I love you Mommy" or some other much sillier thing and then run off again.

And it came over me, through my mind and over my whole body--this thought: I am happy.

I am happy.

And you know what I did? I had the impudence to question it. I thought, "Really? Despite worries about blah-de-blah and this other garbage that's going wrong? Even though you are stressed and you have so much work ahead of you tonight?"

And then, I stopped. Or maybe I just answered my own questions. I said, Yes. Or Shut up. Or whatever to all those questions. And it came over me, through me again. I am happy. Right now. Don't argue. Just take it.

2
Every summer it happens. I never see it coming. And once it happens, I forget it again until the next summer. And it's here today. That blessed day, week, moment whatever, when the house is so full of fresh, in-season fruit it seems unreasonable. I don't know exactly how it comes to be. But open my fridge right now and you will find
red grapes,
green grapes,
watermelon,
cantaloupe,
red cherries
blushing Rainiers,
strawberries,
blueberries.
Peaches ripening in a bowl on the counter.

It's pressure, you know--that feeling that you've got so much fruit to eat before any of it goes bad. Will you be able to get through it all? It would be just plain wrong to have to throw any of it out. But it's one of the most pleasant kinds of pressure I know of. And anytime I get a tiny bit worried about it, I remember that I live in a houseful of people just as committed to fruit eating as I am. Then I also remember my good friend the freezer and my other good friend the smoothie-making blender. And once again I'm free to enjoy the ridiculous exquisite pressure of all the fruit I can possibly consume.

3
Do you know how frequently I look at Charlie Johnny Edmund and think, That face!
That face.