On The Sunny Side of the Street

Grab your coat and snatch your hat, leave your worries on the doorstep
Just direct your feet to the sunny side of the street

Can't you hear that pitter pat and that happy tune is your step
Life can be so sweet, on the sunny side of the street

I used to walk in the shade with the blues on parade
No longer afraid, the rover crossed over

If I never had a cent I'd be rich as Rockfeller
The gold dust at my feet on the sunny side of the street
~Frank Sinatra

     I am no Susie Sunshine when I wake up. Seriously. Morning people are nice but they make me sigh loudly and settle deeper into my tired crankiness. I am always very perturbed to be rousted from my cozy and comfortable nest of fluffy pillows and snuggly duvet. No matter how soft and soothing the alarm tone is when I choose it, it always seems like a jarring cacophony of hatefulness when it goes off at the prescribed time. I will never be a Pollyanna in the morning. I cannot summon enough gladness over early hours. I usually struggle just to remain conscious, suck down my morning smoothie, and care for the kiddos without going into dragon mode. This flaw of mine often causes me to miss out on the beauty of my life.

     Today was no different. I was awake far before I wanted to be (it was 7:00am which is a dream for normal people but feels like cruel and unusual punishment to me). I blearily stumbled around getting the kids dressed, fed, and packed up.  I managed to make myself presentable. I dropped Little Miss off at our once a week homeschool co-op. And then nothing. No productivity. I just sprawled out on the living room floor playing with Little Man. Just listlessly pushing cars and trains around with him and willing myself to get moving. The laundry was piled up, the dishes were taunting me, the floor needed a good vacuuming...stuff, and plenty of it. But for the life of me I could not get off the floor.

     That always makes me feel downright poopy. What kind of person am I if I can't get up off the floor and be productive? Then I proceed to feel way too many feelings and turn into and even more sluggish, emotional wreck.

     Luckily Frank started crooning through the computer speakers (before flopping I turned to an old playlist that I vaguely remembered making years ago). Before I knew it I was smiling, tapping my feet, and then dancing around the room with my baby boy. 

     Right now I am thankful for the little things that help me to press play on my life. Pretty flowers, new buds on the trees, grass turning green, mint tea, shiny lip gloss, toddler kisses, phone calls from Hubs, texts from girlfriends, and especially toe tapping songs. The seemingly insignificant details of a day that make me snap to life again and remember to walk on the sunny side of the street.

     The laundry is still heaped up but the pile is smaller. The sink is empty and gleaming at me, The dishwasher is humming away cheerily. The floor still needs to be cared for but Little Man tuckered out from the dancing and fell asleep. So rather than run the vacuum I am writing for the first time in far too long. Thanks Ol' Blue Eyes for the song.