this is a day

I have tried, when I feel grateful, to grab a pen. To let myself be glad in it, however big or small.
Our house is generally tidy, but there are small bits of paper, receipts and torn corners and printer scraps, spread about with random words and phrases I don't want to let pass.
If I am not able to write it down, I try to at least give my gratitude breath, a whispered prayer of thanks.

Climbing into bed last night I could not find my pillow. But I did find a paper airplane. Plus two smooth wooden blocks, a tiny metal tape measure, a book about Minecraft, three small plastic army guys and a knotted white skein of earbuds. There are clearly few places I am able to inhabit my life alone.

Gratitude lists aren't the only way to go. Sometimes acknowledgment of good fortune can look like crying or singing or walking or resting. Or clearing the boys' flotsam from my side of the bed. Even the act of finding a soft place to lay down can feel like a reminder of my luck.