I watch the two meander down the driveway to wait for their school bus. This morning the air is grey and feeling very autumn like. I always feel nostalgic when fall comes. Everything is as it should be, whether I'm ready or not.

The dog still follows the kids down the driveway and waits with them. She's getting old and although her strength is fading, her enthusiasm is still there. She does her job, as I do mine … kneeling on the edge of the love seat and watching out the front window (making a mental note to Windex the Pomeranian dog snot hieroglyphics off the window) and wondering to myself when my almost-11-year-old son would be taller than his 15-year-old sister.

It seems like that day will never come even though his pants keep getting shorter before he wears them out. They look like robots out there in the grey air doing exactly the same thing they do each morning as they wait, his eyes seeking something entertaining while he kicks at rocks and scratches at a mosquito bite on his elbow and she stands fairly still, shifting her weight occasionally from one foot to the other, listening to her iPod and ignoring her brother. The dog looks bored.

I remember seeing my Mother's face in the front window watching me and my little brother waiting for our school bus out on Day Road. The distance to the end of the driveway is almost exactly the same. She looked worried but I didn't know why. I wonder if my kids see concern in my face and I smile and wave a little when they see me. I doubt that I am fooling them any more than my mother fooled me with her smile. I do worry about cars driving too fast, I worry about the challenges they face, but I'm not as worried as they may think. I sit down and begin writing this column and I hear the bus coming. They get on, off they go, and everything is fine.

Actually, everything IS fine. I feel a little foolish about what I'm about to admit, but it's the truth and I always harbor the hopeful notion that, "If I am thinking it, I can't be the only one who feels this way." So, my admission is this: I have to remind myself on a regular basis that I'm happy.

Please don't mistake this for me "convincing" myself that I'm happy. There's a huge difference between denial and the simple truth. The truth is that our lives can get so busy we forget to appreciate the small things. Busy isn't a bad thing, but it can consume you and cloud your thinking with deceptive ideas on what your priorities are. I made a conscious decision a few months ago to remind myself and acknowledge that "all is well" on a regular basis. In spite of the economy (which seemingly effects everyone), we are OK. My marriage consistently evolves in the right direction, the kids are growing up and we are surviving. Maybe for some people "surviving" may not seem good enough, but for us it really is acceptable.

I don't know anyone who is emotionally and financially thriving every day and I think expecting that is completely unrealistic. We're just regular people. There are good days and bad days. Sometimes there is more money, sometimes there is less. The point is, we are OK enough for me to be happy more and worry less. If the kids eat a decent breakfast and the dog walks them to the school bus, if my husband leaves for a job, if the car starts when it should, if there are choices for dinner and if everyone sleeps comfortably in their beds at night … all is well and I should savor every moment.

I do feel foolish reminding myself to actually FEEL my own happiness, but in this convoluted world of material success it's easy to forget what "happy" really is. I'm always very aware that things could be worse. With that thought in mind, (and some jelly still on my knuckles), it's time to address a sink full of breakfast dishes waiting for me, a tattletale sign of a family I appreciate and meal choices, both of which I'm thankful for.