just cleaning the house...

every once in a while i get a wild hair up my butt and decide to take all of the books off the bookcase and clean the whole damn thing...even wipe down every book as i put it back...i noticed what an odd assortment of books we have sitting right next to each other...little golden books (pokey little puppy was always my favorite)...gay guide to the usa...diary of anne franke...dante's inferno...winnie the pooh and the blustery day (props to phil)...a book about pirates...a gazillion of amy's notebooks with her poetry in them...another gazillion of her school books...and some dr suess thrown in for good measure...but one book stopped me dead in my tracks...'14,000 things to be happy about'...it's a list of 14,000 random things that make the author happy...i had given the book to my mom a few years before she died with handwritten instructions on the inside of the book to highlight the things that made her happy and to reread those things whenever she was feeling down...so there i sat with this damn book, reading and crying and laughing all at once...with the dogs crawling all over me because i was sad or maybe just because i was in there way...i was going to share some of the things that she had highlighted but i think i'll keep those for me...i miss my mom every day, but sometimes shit like this just slams right into me and i hate it...just another reason to hate cleaning the house...