Happiness is a Warm [fill in the blank]

Today I did things that made me happy, in so much as that was possible (I mean, does it make anyone happy to clean up cat barf or pick up a potty-training toddler's poop or find an exploded ink pen in the dryer?). I took time to write on paper with a pen, not the one that exploded in the dryer. I played flute and piano with a little accompaniment from Little and the dog. I made masterpieces of artwork in sidewalk chalk and crayon. I went to the playground with friends. I baked zucchini bread. And midway through the baking of the zucchini bread, about the time when I was grating the titular ingredient and thinking to myself that this was not fun (grating is a necessary evil), I realized that happiness is sometimes more about the results, not the means. As in: I hate grating zucchini, but I like eating zucchini bread. Or even: I really dislike the feel of sidewalk chalk on my fingers, but I love how happy it makes Little when I draw with him. Or also: practicing flute while Little bangs gleefully on the piano and Trigger howls spasmodically gives me a headache, but it's then or not at all, and I like that I'm still a flutist.

And once I had that incredible revelation I decided to mop the kitchen floor because--you guessed it--I despise mopping but I really do love a clean kitchen floor. And happiness is all about baked goods and artistic accomplishments and clean kitchen floors. Or is it just about liking who we are after a long day of cleaning up everyone else's bodily fluids? Still thinking on this one.