Quinn snuck into our bed again early this morning. He does that sometimes. Sometimes I hear him get up, I hear the creak of his bedroom door open and the pitter-patter (or clomp-clomp-clomp as might be more accurate) of his feet stomp into our room, and come around the bed to my side before snuggling up under the covers. Other times I just wake up at some point in the early hours of the night and find my little blond-headed boy sleeping next to me. I usually don’t sleep as well when he’s there with me, the bed after all is only just barely big enough for Zach, myself, and a third occupant. Sometimes I feel irritated by the disturbance of my sleep. But mostly, I marvel at the chance to snuggle up to my youngest child, usually so active and wild and rambunctious. Never so still or quiet as in the middle of the night. There is nothing that melts a parents’ heart quite like watching your kid so peaceful and calm while they sleep… except maybe that moment when they sleepily reach out to you and hold on you your arm, or your neck, or your just put their hand on your back, finding comfort and reassurance in your mere presence.
I wake some time later (hours? minutes?) to the sound of Zach in the bathroom, faucet running as he shaves to get ready for work. Quinn is no longer on my other side, having gotten up at some point to check on Donovan (whose giggles I can hear echoing from the living room as he watches a funny video online). But soon Quinn comes running in, sensing in that way children do that his mama is awake, and he takes a flying leap onto my chest.
I am trying to wake from that deep slumber of your body trying to make up for lost sleep. Which is to say, my mind is a groggy fog and all I want to do is tell him to leave me be, to give me more time to sleep. But he is insistent, telling me something about his nerf guns or about a video he watched or asking if today is the day that we will go to the park/fly to visit our friends/go on that playdate. He puts his hands on either side of my face and touches his nose right up to mine saying, “Mama, wake up! Get up, Mama!” in that silly voice of his. Suddenly, I wrap my arms around him in a big ole mama bear hug and flip him onto his back, pretending to crush him with my weight as he tries to tell me to stop and let go but can’t because he is giggling too hard to get the words out. We playsnugglewrestle for a few more minutes before actually getting up from the bed, and the day begins.
I walk out to the living room and spot Donovan in his usual perch, at the purple table with his headphones on. Today he is watching a mine craft parody video. Or maybe he is building a rocket in Space Engineers, or fighting a battle with space marines. I kiss the top of his head as he pauses the video to tell me good morning. “How did you sleep?” I ask. “Ok,” he says, “I woke up at 5:07 today.” More or less his usual. Quinn runs up to share the chair with him and watch together. I ask if they’ve eaten breakfast yet. Yes, they say, they had cereal. I move to the kitchen to make coffee and also maybe some toast, or put out bowls of yogurt, to give them something else to eat. I check my phone, see what’s changed on twitter and instagram and Facebook in the hours since I last checked the evening before.
Our mornings are usually slow and lazy. If it’s tuesday, Donovan has a class to go to by 10am. If it’s friday, our sitter will be over at 9:00. Otherwise we lounge around snacking, talking, watching, playing. The boys come into the kitchen for a snack. I offer to read some more of the Humphrey book we’re reading, and so we’ll read a chapter or two while they eat and play with the bunny, pausing from time to time to appreciate a good joke or talk about something that just happened in the story. We might watch a movie all together on the couch (in which case Quinn will insist on having popcorn while watching). If there are any scary parts, Quinn will ask me to lie down on the couch, with enough space between my back and the back of the couch for him to squeeze in. I guess it makes him feel safe, comforted. Donovan will come up with a new game he wants to invent, or a new adventure he wants to go on, and tell me all about it. He gets these ideas and it’s like his mind cannot rest unless and until he shares them me. I don’t want to push labels or expectations on him, but part of me hopes he will become a writer one day and share these stories with the world. Or maybe he will share his stories in video form, or as games. Or maybe he will keep them to himself, or share them just with me, and that’s ok too. I am honored that he trusts me with his tales.
Maybe also Quinn asks to watch Donovan play his game and Donovan says no, so then Quinn gets his nerf blaster and shoots a nerf dart at Donovan’s leg. The yelling begins, first by the two of them and then by me (“I want him to play nerf with me!” “That is NOT how you ask!”). Lest I give the impression that it’s always rainbows and unicorns over here. ; )
Several times a day I pass the laundry hamper at the foot of my bed, overflowing with clean but not-yet-folded clothes. Or the sink filling up with dishes. Or the hampers filled with clothes that do still need to be washed. On a good day, I actually take care of these things. Many days, I think to myself, “I should take care of that...,” letting it sit for another day or two first. No one could ever accuse me of being a good homemaker.
Twice a week we meet up with our group at park days, in the afternoons. It’s usually a 30-40 minute drive, just long enough that both boys to fall asleep in the car and get a bit of extra rest. We meet at various parks around the bay area, and thanks to the glorious California weather we are able to meet outside in sunshine and comfortable temperatures just about year-round. The boys play together, or apart, by themselves or with other kids. Or may just sit on the blanket with me and the other parents. Each park day is a little different, the dynamics constantly changing. And on the whole, positive, for the most part.
Then home again, before traffic gets too bad. I usually am able to drive highway 280, which has less traffic and is in general a much more pleasant and beautiful drive than 101. It is fascinating to watch the landscape change, the endless burnt-yellow hills turn to lush green when we get our “winter” rains, then back again as summer approaches.
So, home. Throw some dinner together. Probably have something for dessert (or “deezee” as Donovan has taken to calling it), like a small bowl of vanilla ice-cream. Baths (separately), brushing of teeth, putting on of clothes (Donovan wears pajamas, Quinn daytime clothes. Neither will change in the morning, unless specifically asked to. It saves on laundry, I suppose). We read some books. Donovan has recently discovered his appreciation of chapter books, like the Humphrey the Hamster book we read earlier. We read a couple chapters of that, stopping a few times to remind Quinn that he is welcome to sit and listen with us but if he’s gonna keep making so much noise he can go play in a different room. Donovan climbs into his bed and asks me to tuck him in and sit with him for a few minutes. He still likes stroking my chin, a habit he began as an infant and has not let go of in his 8 years yet. “Goodnight, sweet pea. I love you. I’m so glad to be your mama,” I whisper to him. Quinn comes in carrying a stack of picture books to read. I ask him to pick 2 or 3 of them, and we can read them in my bedroom. He likes to read with us lying down on the bed, on our bellies.
We finally finish reading the books, and Quinn then asks to lie down in his own bed. Other nights he lies down in my bed to fall asleep. I would then go back later in the night to move him to his own bed, marveling at how long he has gotten, how much harder it is to carry his sleeping body than when he was younger. At first he flops around in his bed, trying to tell me last random thoughts about the day. But finally he calms down, lies still, and his eyelids drift and close and he succumbs to sleep. I lie next to him for a few more minutes, watching him sleep, making sure he really is all the way under.
As I start to get up I hear the squeak of the screen door out back, the sound of Zach coming home from work. I go to greet him with a kiss hello. He changes from his work dress pants into jeans, then settles into the kitchen for something to eat. Heats up some water with honey. We spend a short while talking, sharing our days, his work frustrations, interesting tidbits. He still has some more work to do, so he eventually gets up and sets himself up with his laptop. I should be getting ready for bed myself, but I want some moments of solitude, of doing something on my own to relax. A million things call for my attention, chores both around the house and on the computer that need to get done. But by evening, I often can’t quite be bothered. Instead I lose myself in a good book, or a good show. I currently have four episodes left of the new season of House of Cards. I watch an episode, maybe even two, scolding myself for staying up too late to do so. Finally, I go brush my teeth, wash my face, change into my own pajamas. Sometimes Zach joins me at bedtime, sometimes he’s still up working in which case I leave the light on for him on his side of the bed. I lie down, resist the urge to check my phone one last time, turn off my light, and go to sleep.
A few hours later I wake up to my snuggly sweet little boy curled up at my side.
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