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

wide emotional range—she laughs easily, and she cries easily. She’s friendly to everyone, fearless, very determined, and already frustrated by not being able to keep up with Eliza.
    My goal for April, the month dedicated to parenthood? To become more tender and playful with my two daughters. I wanted a peaceful, cheerful, even joyous atmosphere at home—and I knew that nagging and yelling weren’t the way to achieve that. I had two healthy, affectionate little girls, and I wanted my actions as a parent to rise to the level of that good fortune. I wanted to stop my quick bursts of temper—I indulged in that behavior all too often, and then, because it made me feel bad, I behaved even worse. I wanted to be more lighthearted. I wanted to take steps to preserve the happy memories from this time.
    Eliza was old enough to grasp, dimly, that I was writing a book about happiness, but I didn’t tell her that I was working on my parenting skills. As a child, I would have been shocked to learn that my parents gave any thought to how they behaved as parents; they seemed all-wise, practically all-powerful, without any self-doubt. Eliza, I figured, would be unnerved by the notion that I was questioning my actions as a mother.
    But although I didn’t tell her what I was doing, April Fool’s Day conveniently presented me with an opportunity to keep some of my resolutions on the very first day of the month.
    The night before, I’d put a bowl of Cheerios and milk in the freezer, and on the morning of April 1, I presented it to Eliza with a spoon—and watched as she tried, unsuccessfully, to dig in. Her puzzled look was hilarious.
    “April Fool’s!” I said.
    “Really?” she answered, thrilled. “It’s a real April Fool’s joke? Great!” She examined the bowl closely, then ran to show it to Jamie. She got a big kick out of the prank.
    The night before, I’d already gotten into bed when I realized that I’d forgotten to prepare the bowl, and I’d been tempted to drop the whole idea. I remembered my goals for April, though, and hauled myself out of bed. When morning came, I was so happy that I’d taken the time to set up the joke. The fact is, life is more fun when I keep my resolutions.
    SING IN THE MORNING.
    In a family, it’s worth the effort to find ways to get mornings running smoothly, because while mornings set the tone for everyone’s days, they also tend to be stressful as adults try to get themselves organized while also chivvying their children to get ready. From a conversation with Eliza, I got the idea of my resolution to “Sing in the morning.”
    “What did you do at school today?” I’d asked her.
    “We talked about how our parents wake us up in the morning.”
    “What did you say?” I prodded, with curiosity and trepidation.
    “With a good-morning song.”
    Why she said this, I don’t know, because I’d done that only a few times in her whole life. After hearing her comment, though, I vowed to make a habit of it. (This conversation also reminded me that just as adults counsel themselves not to do anything that they wouldn’t want reported in the newspaper, parents shouldn’t do anything they wouldn’t want featured in an essay displayed on the wall for Parent Night.)
    As soon as I started, I saw that singing in the morning really had a cheering effect. I’d become a true believer of the “Act the way I want to feel” commandment; by acting happy, I made myself feel happy. After singing a verse of “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket,” I found it easier to resist slipping into a hectoring tone.
    Singing in the morning reminded me to follow my Ninth Commandment, to “Lighten up.” I tried to free-ride off my children’s laughter—Eleanor especially has always been unusually quick to laugh, even for a little kid—by pushing myself to enter into the mood, to have at least one moment of pure fun with Eliza and Eleanor each day, to laugh at Jamie’s playfulness, and to take a light tone even when I’m chastising, nagging, or fending off complaints.
    Easier said than done. On day three of my resolution, I woke up witha swollen, sore eyelid. I’m casual about most health-related matters, but because I’m so nearsighted that I’m legally blind, I take any eye problem very seriously. I’m prone to sties, but this didn’t look like a sty.
    Singing in the morning was the farthest thing from my mind.
    Because Jamie was traveling on business, I couldn’t leave the girls with him while