To torture my daughter, I bought a coffee mug with a headless horseman throwing a jack-o-lantern. It is emblazoned with the one word that our daughter has asked us to never use – “Yeet”. Of course, the more she begs us to stop saying it, the more we work it into conversations. We never use it correctly.
It is small, but it brings us joy (and, although she’d never admit it, it brings her joy too).
It is these little nuggets of joy that help us extinguish the dumpster of life when it is engulfed in flames.
Here are some of my joy nuggets:
- My daughter’s infectious laugh.
- Books. Books. Books.
- Catching my husband off guard with a joke.
- Holiday-themed gnomes.
- The first drink of coffee in the morning.
- Keeping plants alive all summer.
- Handwritten cards.
- Thanksgiving.
- Having friends who love and support my daughter.
- My dog’s wayward bottom tooth.
- A clean house.
- Being awake by myself, knowing that my family is sleeping securely.
- Little kid cereal.
- Airport beers.
- Cows.
- Christmas decorations.
- A “grunt-work” workout.
- A medium-rare steak.
- An unexpected “thinking of you” text.
- “Little kid” cereal.
- Tattoos.
- When David lip-syncs “The Best” to Patrick.
- A soft hoodie.
- Breakfast for dinner (or any meal, really).
- Law and Order: SVU.
- Room service.
- Dive bars.
- Sneakers.
- Car and airplane naps.
- Attending all my kid’s games/events.
- Chocolate/peanut butter ice cream.
- Watching TV in bed.
- The library.
- The smell of chlorine.
- Tailgates.
- Hugs.
Don’t yeet the little joys.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Soshally Awkward
Sosha Lewis is a writer whose work has been featured in The Washington Post, Huffington Post, MUTHA Magazine and The Charlotte Observer. She writes about her sometimes wild, sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking past filled with free-lunches, a grimy sports bar, a six foot tall Albino woman who tried to save her teenage soul, felonious, drug addicted parents, an imaginary friend named Blueberry and growing up nestled in the coal-dusted mountains of West Virginia.
