Bliss

The Infant is blissful. Not happy or content or any other state of being that describes a sense of well being, bliss is the word. A full belly, clean from the skin out and toes spread to the breeze of a fan brings a blissful smile to her face. I have decided to try it - after the other two go to bed tonight of course. The only way a mom of the under five crowd to be blissful is to add QUIET to that list. I think the toe spreading part is what tips the scale from content.

I can't emulate the dog. Well, I could, but it is uncouth for me to spread my haunches nekkid under the cherry tree. This isn't Eugene, Oregon. (rimshot. Anyone who's lived there knows.)

The Verbalist and the Muralist require large doses of chocolate ice cream to reach the bliss state. Good Lord and my scale -scratch that, mirror, I gave up owning a scale- know I love chocolate ice cream, but as I am attempting to keep my new slim (huh?- ed. HUSH-me) post baby silloutte there is a certain amount of guilt involved therein. Guilt keeps you from tipping over into the bliss catagory.

The cats are dozing in a puddle of sunshine. Cats, it's so hard to tell if bliss enters it. Can you be blissful and still supercilious? If anyone can it's a cat. Bliss requires an innocence of heart and cats are innocently superior.

I'll break from the high philosophy and end with an ancedote. The kids and I ran around to the local store to grab an odd or end, I forget which, and the marched around very good and not lobbying for anything. I had just turned down a new aisle when I realized the Verbalist was no longer with me. I looked back around the corner to see him with two boxes, apparently evaluating the nutritional information. No mean accomplishment since he is just learning 3-4 four letter words. The shelf stocker asked him if he needed help and he held up the boxes.
"Just wondering," he piped, "if these say if moms will buy them."