I find myself in the recliner, neck pillow adjusted and minky blanket covering from neck to toes. It’s 4:45 and dinner is being handled by the crock pot. The sun is quickly setting and I can see the silhouette of the now bare trees against the horizon’s glow. Music (my favorite background Christmas album) is playing and I hope I can get 15 -20 minutes of rejuvenating rest. I count how many kids are in the house. One, two,, three…. Five of mine and three others. Remarkably it doesn’t feel like a crowd. Maybe because we are becoming so used to each other, we just live and play together in this home …. some of us for an hour, some all the time. Kids laughter, thump, thump up and down the stairs. mine craft discussions…. all noises of home. A little voice beside me breaks my drift into the arms of Morpheus:
Mommy, can you find the lid for my marker?
No, mommy can’t find the lid.
But it will dry out?
(Isn’t that what I always tell them?) OK, look under the bar.
Found it mommy, but it won’t go on.
Let me put it on , but then you let mommy have a little sleep, OK?
If I can just get a little sleep I can re-energize and face dinner, homework and baths. A crash and tinkling sound. Oh well, I don’t hear any big exclamations. It can’t be too bad. Drift… drift… I remember why I listened to that album so often last year. It’s how they mixed those two songs together. What is the name of that piece? My younger me looks down at me, all tipped back and snug. You’re just like mom. Snoozing in a chair for a couple minutes, music on, house living on. This is good isn’t it? Catching the good moments before the work begins again. Reflecting, remembering as you drift off. This humming home, it’s mine. I never imagined that moments like these create life that has the DNA of the past written all over them.
Phone rings. It’s for you mom. Really? Yup, it’s dad. End of nap.