The Happiest Years of our Lives

Occasionally I hear older parents say that the happiest years of their lives where when their children were very young. Never mind the exhaustion, sleep deprivation and sheer relentlessness of children, it's all downhill from here.

I thought this sentiment might only come from dads who slept through year after year of middle-of-the-night feeding-changing-crying. No, it's moms too. Were they just lamenting their final days of being young? Maybe. Or perhaps it was the last hopeful pause before their marriage fell apart? Who knows. Why weren't the years when the kids were older just as happy?

Whatever the reason was, I turned to Robin the other night right before falling asleep and said, "If these are the happiest years of our lives, I want to acknowledge it right here, right now. Because when our lives are in shambles, I need to know that we didn't take what we had for granted."

Then last weekend I may have had the best day of my life. Maybe there's truth in what they said.

We woke up at the usual time of 6am (thanks to Gigi, aka Cock-a-doodle-do). Breakfast was a spinach quiche I'd made the day before. The kids love quiche, so there were no arguments getting them to eat. With a solid protein breakfast in their tummies, we treated them to donuts from Top Pot up the street. I had my usual iced soy latte, which I sipped for three hours.

Then we were off to Annie's Playground, the neatest playground in Seattle. Someone who loves to climb surely had a great time designing the play structures. Harrison kept saying, "Awesome!" as he ran from rope climber to climbing wall to ladder to hill. Gigi's new thing is hanging from bars, and there were plenty within her reach, which thrilled her.

The playground is as beautiful as it is fun. The walls surrounding it are covered in sea-theme mosaic art. It was obviously well thought out and built with love. You can see that even without knowing the reason it was built. It's called Annie's Playground because when Annie died suddenly and inexplicably right before her third birthday, her parents had the playground created in her memory. I thought about that as I pushed Gigi on the swings and couldn't help tearing up for a grateful moment.

Back at home Gigi napped while Harrison watched some TV and I read. Robin left to finally order our new door (which we promised to do after Josephine died, since our current door, in addition to looking ragged, has a giant kitty door sawn out of it). Nothing like sitting back while someone else takes care of a long-awaited domestic chore. Ahhh.

We spent the afternoon in the backyard playing on the jungle gym (kids) and cutting spent flowers (me). We BBQ'd burgers to look identical to the PCC newsletter picture that had been posted on the fridge for two weeks. The picture showed a perfectly grilled locally-farmed beef patty topped with blue cheese (possibly roquefort), lettuce, tomatoes and red onions. I chose the smallest whole wheat buns I could find so that the bread wouldn't overpower the meat. It was the best burger I'd ever eaten.

The evening was mellow with baths and stories before the kids fell asleep. All-in-all a perfect family day. If you only remember days like this, of course they're the happiest years of your life. And I suppose when children are innocent, uninhibited and bursting with a love of life, you can't help but live vicariously through them, which is probably a happier life than your own.

It's their joy that makes it the best years of our lives.

I just hope we can make them as happy as they are now for the rest of our lives. Then wouldn't every year be the happiest year of our lives?