Naptime is midday. Bedtime is after dark. Thanks to my lovely DH, I sleep in until the heat has arrived. So two days a week I have two hours at midday with which to do as I please.
Oddly, or perhaps expectantly? Or even sadly or doldrummy, I often spend much of this time recovering from the hours before and preparing for the hours to come.
I’m a solo recharge type. An introvert. A give me silence, space, and activity person. Motherhood does interesting things to this brain chemistry requirement. Work shifting more and more toward people and meetings and interaction contributes greatly. The days where I would work alone, at home, on my computer in a dimly lit room with only the dog’s snores as soundtrack are rare indeed these days.
So these two hours are precious. I plan gardening adventures, temperature be damned. I dream of baking something delicious and new and complex. Or reorganizing the pantry. (Yes, I am that person. No, I’m not ashamed.) Perhaps, even, of working to finish a wedding quilt for a couple married nine years now…
But no. Instead I, too, take a nap. Or see how many episodes of a show I can binge on. Yet most often, I putter around the house. Rotating laundry. Rotating the dishwasher. Doing my half of the Things In Things Must Be Out rotation.
Yet by the time she awakens I’ve missed her. I’m happy to hear her call out to be released back into the giggling squealing freedom of chasing the dog (four times her size) or reading books or dancing and singing. I’m in love with each new word she fearlessly pronounces with access to only three comfortable consonants and five vowel options.
I may have to resurrect the potted raspberry vine I attempted to neglectfully kill last week. As raspberries aren’t just her new favorite food, but “ae-be-ee” is my most favorite pronunciation.