Story Time

Someone asked in a comment many posts ago if we read to our kids and how we managed the crowd control. I read them books if they bring them to me throughout the day, but we have a formal story time as a part of our bedtime routine. They each get to pick one book when they are completely ready for bed and we all sit and read them together in our queen-sized bed.

It's funny. A long, long time ago, when I was pregnant with Gee and watching my two other children grow in an orphanage a thousand miles away, I had a fantasy I would replay often in my head. It was an idyllic picture of early mornings with a large family. I would wake up and hug each child drowsily as they crawled into our huge bed with spotless white sheets. We would snuggle, giggle, say good morning and then fall back to sleep for an hour or so, all curled together like puppies, until sunlight filled the room and the clock reached a decent time.

I think in my dream world, we all smelled vaguely of coconut and lemons and sunshine.

We definitely didn't smell like pee. In my real world, my kids reek of pee in the early morning. The night-trained one misses and the other two are wearing diapers so huge and swollen that I actually wrinkle my nose in disgust when I catch a whiff. They could never sneak in and wake me up by snuggling because I would smell them when they crossed the thresh hold of our room and about that time I would call, firmly, "the sun is not on, the clock does not say seven, back to your bed."

Truth is, I hate kids in our bed in the morning, in the night, pretty much at any time. I tolerate them as babies and then I want them to get out and stay out.

Further fantasy fallacies abound.

Our sheets are not clean. Even if they were when the night started, by the morning, the baby has puked on them.

There is nothing snuggly about small children sleeping. They are all knees and elbows and grabby little hands.

There is nothing decent about the time that our gaggle awakes for the day, nor would they be inclined to go back to sleep for an hour or so unless I hit them over the head with something heavy. Don't think I haven't considered it.

The window is more likely to let bleak, gray, winter light leak into our freezing cold room than buttery sunshine.

Some dreams never have a chance to get off of the ground. But, sometimes you can find their solid, golden core, if you are willing to allow the wrapping to look a little less perfect than you imagined.




I'm closing my comments for most of the month of November while I participate in National Novel Writing Month and National Blog Posting Month. I can't ask you to talk to me every freaking day for thirty days. That's cruel and usual punishment. My email is always open - anymommyoutthere@gmail.com.


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