The smileyness of daffodils

Hello God.

Things to thank you for.

In list format, as my brain isn't feeling up to putting in all the little joining and describing words. I know that I've been down in the dumps lately and I need to look up at you for a while so that I can get a refill of joy.

Oh thank you thank you thank you. There are signs of Spring! Daffodils are coming out. I love daffodils. I love the determined cheerfulness, the extravagant shape of the flower, the vivid colour against the fading Winter greys and browns. I've got a glassful of daffodils right in front of me now and behind them is a bowl of fruit; red and green apples and oranges and the yellow of the daffs. It's beautiful. Daffodils are smiley. They make me feel smiley. Daffodils spread smileyness. You can't look at daffodils and not smile, can you? Did you plan it that way?

I bet you did.

Thankyou for blue skies and sunny days and the promise of time spent outdoors. For wellies and muddy gardens and not bothering to look after the lawn because the sound of my children having fun is more important.  Thankyou for big trees and tiny little green buds on the bare skeletons of hedgerows. All full of promise and hope and newness and potential.

Thankyou for showing me.

Thankyou for families that take care of each other when they're poorly. Thankyou for Mums who produce Poorly Person Biscuits just when needed and who give permission to go and lie down just when needed as well. 

Thankyou for my little apple swan (Bramley) who made his way out of the fruit bowl and into our lives via a YouTube clip that someone sent me. Something so simple can be so magical. The children were impressed at my prowess with a kitchen knife. So was I, actually. 

Thankyou for the rainbow against a marvellous purple sky right now as I look out of the window with the sun behind me and the fine rain coming down. All the colours of the paintbox and more in a fleeting display that lasts only minutes. Just because you could. 

Thankyou for the artwork stuck to the kitchen cupboards made for me by my little girls who wanted to say Get Well Soon to Mummy. Lizzie did a wonderful house and garden scene with a huge slide and Katy did a picture of her favourite meal to tempt me to eat when I was off my food. (It's sausages and chips with peas and tomato ketchup, if you couldn't tell.) They make me smile every time I see them. And since they're stuck to the door of the cupboard where the biscuits are, that's quite often. Convalescence, you know. Got to give in to the biscuit cravings. Ahem.

Thankyou for the beauty and innocence of their faces asleep last night when I looked in on them at bedtime. For some reason Elizabeth looked breathtakingly lovely last night. I don't know if it was the tilt of her head or the way her hair framed her face but she looked wonderful. I could have gazed at her forever. 

Thankyou for my husband who as I type this is bent over a disemboweled computer explaining the component parts with infinite patience to our eldest daughter and letting her fit the bits in as he mends it. 

I'm going to go to the toyshop now and choose a present for Katy, who'll be five on Wednesday. Five years since I had my smallest baby; how did that happen? That little one who snuggled into me and fed for those long hours in the night when there was only the two of us in the world?  That little one whose cuddles I love so very much suddenly become a child who can read a little and write a little and even spell?  How is it that they grow up so fast? What sort of toy can we buy her that might stimulate her, entertain her and yet keep her little a while longer?

Well, Saturday afternoon and lots to do. I'm glad we talked. 

Thankyou for teaching me to look around and see how wealthy I am. How many blessings. How much I have. How rich I am in every way that matters. 

The sun is out. The daffodils are yellow. Bramley the apple swan is going brown and his head is drooping.

Best eat him, I think.