Yesterday was a bit of a whirlwind. M’s dad was in town for just one night and we went out for a late dinner to celebrate his birthday. Afterwards the guys went to play some games, and I came home with two very tired and grumpy girls. The little one crashed the moment her head hit the pillow and all of a sudden what had been a very bustling, boisterous evening was oddly quiet. That happens a lot in our house. Things going in a million different directions, voices, singing, banging, playing, running… and sometimes yelling, crying, whining. And then quiet. The house takes a deep, deep breath. Everything shifts to the quiet and the still.
I knew E was going to be sleeping in our room that night, having given her room over to her Grandpa. I told her to bring down a good book once she had her pajamas on and we’d sit in bed together and decompress a bit from Monday. A few minutes later she showed up with pillows and sleep friends and a stack of books. “I go through Ivy and Bean books like candy, so I thought I’d bring them all,” she explained to me. She’s right. She will whiz through one after the other until she’s forced to turn out the light. She chooses not to accept the fact that she has about an hour to read before I make her go to sleep. Instead she lets the still of the house trick her into thinking that the night is hers – all of it. I’m the same way. Things go at such a hurried harried pace that when they stop it’s like a switch is flipped and it feels like it’s my time. And those hours stretch out ahead of me like a gift. I love that E and I can sit together in silence and fill up that space with the things that we love. We did that for an hour, and then slipped needles into fabric, bookmarks into pages, turned out the lights and snuggled close. Not a bad start to the week.