The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun

with relief, “what do you have in mind?”
    Bob immediately signed on to my plan. He’s a very good sport about dealing with many kinds of tiresome family tasks and obligations, but this kind of project didn’t play to his strengths. In fact, everyone in the family cooperated happily. They wanted Judy to have a wonderful birthday, too; they just weren’t inclined to do the kind of planning it would require.
    In pursuit of my vision, I took complete control. A few days before the party, I sent around an e-mail to Jamie, Bob, Phil, and Lauren—and, to their credit, I didn’t get a single snarky e-mail in response:
    Hello all—Judy’s birthday party is just four days away.
    We want a PILE of WRAPPED presents. This means you! One is not enough!
    Bob: Eliza and I wrapped your present. Are you bringing champagne?
    Jamie: have you bought the present from you and me?
    Phil and Lauren: what are you making for dinner—is there anything special I need to have on hand? what time do you need to arrive? white wine or red wine with the food? Did you say you were making menu cards? I think Judy would think that was hilarious.
    Everyone: I know I’d open myself up for family scorn if I instructed everyone that it was inappropriate to wear your I-just-rolled-off-the-couch-to-amble-over-to-your-party clothes. So I won’t say a word about that. Just remember that it is the sense of occasion and thoughtfulness that will make it a great night.
    This will be fun! xx g
    I did a lot of preparation for this party. Eliza and I went to the “Our Name Is Mud” pottery store, where Eliza decorated dinner plates with theater themes, reflecting her grandmother’s passion. We spent a pleasant hour (yes, hour) scrolling through the Colette’s Cakes Web site to choose the prettiest cake. Jamie and I shot a DVD of Eliza singing a selection of Judy’s favorite songs, with Eleanor toddling through the action.
    On the night of the party, before everyone was due to arrive at 6:30 P.M ., I began my anxious last-minute tidying. My mother loves to entertain, and from her I inherited a propensity to preparty jitters, which we call “hostess neurosis” experienced family members know to drift out of sight lest they be conscripted into sudden vacuuming. But when Jamie emerged from hiding at 6:29 P.M ., he was wearing khakis, a plaid shirt, and no shoes.
    I took a moment; then, careful to use a light tone, I remarked, “I wish you were wearing something a little nicer.”
    Jamie looked as if he took a moment, then answered, “I’ll put on a nicer pair of pants, is that okay?” Then he went up and changed his pants and his shirt and put on shoes, too.
    The evening unfolded exactly as I’d hoped. Before the adults sat down for dinner, the granddaughters ate chicken salad sandwiches—Judy’s favorite—with their grandmother. We presented the birthday cake while the girls were still awake so they could sing “Happy Birthday” and eat a piece. Then we packed the girls off to bed, and the adults sat down to eat (Indian food, Judy’s favorite).
    “This was really a perfect evening,” Judy said as everyone stood up to go. “I loved everything about it. My presents, the food, the cake—really, everything was wonderful.” It was obvious that Judy really didenjoy the party, and everyone was pleased to have played a part, but I think I enjoyed it most of all. I was so happy that it had turned out just right.
    The party underscored the truth of the third of my Twelve Commandments: “Act the way I want to feel.” Although I might have predicted that organizing the party would make me feel resentful, in fact, acting in a loving way amplified my loving feelings toward everyone in the family, particularly Judy.
    I must admit, however, that at times before the party, I felt that Jamie and the others weren’t appreciative enough. I was happy to do the planning, and I would’ve been annoyed if anyone else had tried to take over, but still I wanted my gold star. I wanted Jamie, Bob, or Phil to say, “Wow, Gretchen, you’re really putting together a terrific evening! Thanks so much for your brilliant, creative, and thoughtful planning!” That wasn’t going to happen—so let it go. Do it for myself.
    But Jamie knows me very well. While Judy was opening her gifts, Jamie pulled a box from a shelf and handed it to me.
    “This is for you,” he said.
    “For me?” I was surprised and pleased. “Why do I get a present?” Jamie didn’t answer,