Time For Bed

            The more things change the more they stay the same.  It is a fact I love bedtime.  It is today and has been since my kids were born, my favorite time of day.   And its not just because its when I finally get that desperately needed time to myself, although that’s worth it’s weight in bubble bath too.   And even though my family knows I do enjoy my sleep and could always use more of it, that’s not why I feel such a connection to this time of day either.  It’s bigger than that; too big to ignore and yet so small and simple it’s impossible to completely appreciate, so I’m constantly left wanting more. 

            It feels primal.  I think it’s a magical time of day, when the skies are turning to twilight, and we all know sleep isn’t far away.

            It started when the boys were babies.  Bedtime brought squeaky-clean cherub faces, in pajamas with feet, and special blankets for snuggling.  It was the time when they would finally calm down enough to rock and sing lullabies and stare back into my eyes until they would eventually give in to sleep and lay there snuggly and safe.  And in spite of my own exhaustion, I could still realize there was something about that time of day that I could trust to carry me through; and even though I may have felt empty, and tired and worn out, bedtime could fix it. 

            Later when we started reading books that magic only grew.   I wouldn’t trade crawling into bed or piling onto the couch every night with a stack of favorite books for a million dollars.   I looked forward to it as much as they did, to read and laugh and look at beautiful illustrations and almost always take more minutes than I promised.  I memorized those books.  I know right where we turned each page, and which gentle rhythm was the best just before tucking in, and which ones would get the biggest belly laughs.  And lying there shoulder to shoulder I could feel it rise up in me, warm and full, that feeling: joyful, peaceful, blissful, bedtime.

            It’s not that every single night was pure bliss.  There were the thousand requests to get teeth brushed and baths taken, and arguing about who touched who and who said what.  But tired tears always dried up quickly and it always ended the same way.

            I don’t even know when that changed, but eventually, they got old enough that they started reading their own books, and bedtime became just tucking in.  Even though I could still recite most of their favorite books page by page, it was time to move on.  So I found my own ways to make bedtime work for me. 

            Sometimes we all read our own books quietly to ourselves but snuggled in my bed.  Sometimes they read in their own beds.  But we still had tucking in time. That’s when we would drag out our good nights with long rituals of hugs, and kisses, and I would run back and forth from room to room, each time I’d leave one room the other would shout, “Just one more hug!”  I couldn’t stop hugging them! That’s when we invented the “air-hug”, because eventually the game had to come to an end. So when it came time for the last hug I would stand in their door, hold my arms out to the side and end the night with the words, “Air-Hug, I love you!” And they would throw their arms out wide and reply, “Air-hug back, I love you.” And it worked for all of us, that bedtime magic was still alive, and I would walk down their hall when we finally turned off the last light, with a huge sense of accomplishment and relief and peace.

            But time marches on.  This summer they have enjoyed staying up later than me, and I frequently find myself heading to bed while they are still lounging and eating popcorn and watching a movie.  Or, when I do say goodnight in their rooms, it is sometimes just a quick hug and kiss and I love you and that’s it. 

            I don’t know if I can have my magical bedtime for very much longer.  But I do know I won’t let go without a fight.  So, when I go to bed before them, I bring bedtime to me.  I have them come to my room and tuck me in with a hug and kiss.              And on the night’s I am in their dark rooms at bedtime, I’ve discovered that occasionally, if you look for it, the magic is still hiding in there.  It’s quiet and hard to find and it happens at the most unexpected times.  But if you’re not in a hurry, and you wait for it, every so often, just as I’m about to walk out the door, it happens.

“Hey Mom….”

            And just like that I’m sucked right back in, to sit on the side of their bed, looking into those same eyes I rocked and read to so many times, and listening to any sort of random observation, or telling jokes, or sharing more grown up thoughts. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we figure out one of life’s challenges, sometimes we talk about our day or the next day and sometimes we just sit quietly and linger.  But always, in that little moment, I am thankful beyond words to say we still feel it.  It’s alive, that special magic is there, holding us suspended in time, until we’re finally ready for the very last air-hug.