I’m about four days into a stretch of good days. It started Friday-ish. Actually, yeah, Friday because Thursday morning I had an anxiety attack so that day was shot.
So yeah. Since Friday, it’s been Good Days. Good days mean a lot to me because they are what I have to hang on to when I’m having Bad Days.
Good days mean that when I wake up, I don’t immediately wish it was still night, that I don’t start thinking about a nap, or going back to bed, the second my eyes open.
Good days mean that I keep up with things around the house, that the sink isn’t perpetually full of dishes, that the floor gets swept regularly, that the laundry gets put away (or done, period). They mean that the toys get picked up throughout the day, and the beds get made. They mean fun baths and smooth bedtimes.
Good days mean the yard gets watered, the garden gets tended. The houseplants aren’t left to wither. They mean that the dogs get the attention they deserve, their meals on time, more games of fetch, more attention. They mean that there’s sewing and knitting. Good days mean the mail gets checked and sorted. Emails get returned, phone calls get made.
Good days mean the TV doesn’t get turned on first thing, that games get played and projects get done. In these days of homeschooling, it means that I’m patient, that I engage all three kids at the same time (bad days, I just let the little ones go play during ‘school’). Good days mean we go outside a lot.
The only problem with Good Days is that there’s always the worry that this is the last one. That I might wake up tomorrow and the good days will be over for now, and there’ll be some Bad Days for awhile. Today? Today was a Good Day, so that’s good enough for right now.