It is the middle of the night. I am in a dark hotel room, my babies asleep within arms reach. I am listening to them breathing. I am listening, and I am loving the sound, the reassuring rhythm of the sound of their sleep. They will wake – sooner, later – and I will wrap my arms around them and kiss them and hush them and we will snuggle together and they will sleep and I will lay awake and we will pass the night and we will be happy, all of us. Even me, in my tiredness. I will be happy. I am happy
We have taken a little holiday, just we three. We have spent the day playing and eating and playing and swimming and eating and playing, just us, and then with good friends, and then just us again. There has been no Internet, no television, no distraction. Just us. Just us, and the untrammeled joy of just being just us.
Tomorrow, we’ll play some more. And eat some more and swim some more. And then we’ll go dancing. And we will laugh, a lot.
And then we’ll go home and we will hug and kiss our fourth and we will wade back into the mess and busy-ness of home and work and life. Laptops will spring open. Televisions will be turned on. The buzz and hum will resume.
But we will be happy, because we will know that we can always turn off the buzz and hum, that we can always escape, even if we never step out the front door. Because we are each other’s greatest joy.
We always know that. Sometimes it takes a little break to remind us, but we always know that.
We always know.
Edited, late Sunday: from the vantage point of the day following an entirely sleepless night, this sentence – “and they will sleep and I will lay awake and we will pass the night and we will be happy, all of us. Even me, in my tiredness. I will be happy” – reads like 50% nonsense, 30% delusion and maybe 20% rambling sentimentalism. The sentimentalism, fine – I do adore my children and I do consider myself happy and I am so glad to have taken a technology break this weekend – but really. Exhaustion sucks rancid cow poo, and I was not – I repeat, NOT – happy to get only five minutes’ sleep last night. They are my greatest joy, yes, but they just might be trying to kill me, too.
Edited, late Sunday: from the vantage point of the day following an entirely sleepless night, this sentence – “and they will sleep and I will lay awake and we will pass the night and we will be happy, all of us. Even me, in my tiredness. I will be happy” – reads like 50% nonsense, 30% delusion and maybe 20% rambling sentimentalism. The sentimentalism, fine – I do adore my children and I do consider myself happy and I am so glad to have taken a technology break this weekend – but really. Exhaustion sucks rancid cow poo, and I was not – I repeat, NOT – happy to get only five minutes’ sleep last night. They are my greatest joy, yes, but they just might be trying to kill me, too.
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