It’s storming here in the mountains.
The sky is filled with dark, gray clouds. Clouds that cast shadows on this tiny house. A house that is (currently) quiet. A house that holds almost all of the people I love.
My children, who’ve been playing HARD all morning, are tucked under their “special” blankets, eyes closed and breathing calm. Children who are loved far more than they’ll ever know.
For the first time all day, I’m alone. No one is tugging at my legs or asking for “gummies in a box” (a snack that Henry seems to have created in his mind, because we have no such food here).
For the first time all day, I get to sit for longer than 5 minutes. All the chores are finished, house clean, laundry put away. I’m allowed to do as I please. In a sense, I’m allowed to be selfish.
For the next hour at least.
I find solace in the stillness of naptime. I can refocus, regroup. I can allow myself to rest. I can quiet the voices that make me feel guilty for not trying harder, for yelling earlier, for not being “my best”.
And some days, I can even take part in this afternoon rest. Close my eyes. Calm my breath. Quiet the noises. And sleep….
It’s storming here in the mountains. I’m going to take a nap. Wake up. Rub the sleep away. And start over again.