Staying up late

So now we have come to my favorite part of the night.  That would be the time when, having taken anywhere from a 30 minute to 2 hour nap during the day, Virginie finds herself sitting on the couch with me while Lily sleeps.  Usually this time is somewhere between 8:45 and 10:30 pm and renders it impossible for me to get a moment to myself before needing to go to sleep.  Tonight, Virginie and I are up watching tv while I wait for her to nod off.  She is talking my head off. 

Yes, I know the rule.  Don't change locations or you're dead.  But we started off the night in my bed, all three of us, which is a special treat as nine times out of ten I say an emphatic no and wrangle them into their own bed with plushy animals, Barbies, water-filled sippies, tissues tucked under pillows.  Lily passed out after rambling on about the unicorns and swan princesses, how much she loves her teacher, her desire for just a bunny, a hamster, a kitten, and a guinea pig and possibly a puppy as a gift for her teacher who loves them (so Lily tells me).  I sat there silently, unmoving, hoping that Virginie too was about to drift off.  No such luck.  In the dark, nearly pitch, I hear the tiniest of voices whisper/whine "but I'm not tired.  I want to go out there and stand."

And that's when I came out to the living room.  To the second location.  Where all bets were off.  She saddled up to me on the couch with her Rapunzel Barbie, a blanket, her sippy cup with juice, taken from the fridge to replace "just the water.  I don't want water, "and we snuggled together under that blanket watching the final performance night of "The Voice."  I know, bonding with my child and yadda yadda yadda but it was 9 pm.  I am responsible for the people from sun up to sundown and much later.  I just need a few minutes, an hour, a little bit to be with myself and my thoughts and God willing be creative. 

So tonight, as Virginie sat big-brown-eyed next to me flashing a level of extreme cuteness so intense even the Grumpy Old Troll would melt, I wrote and thought and thought some more about my life with these people.  I love them so.  I want to do better by them than was done by me.  I let them stay up if they can't sleep and sit with me, snuggle, chat even when all I want is some alone time.  I do still believe that I need that time, deserve it, owe it to myself but I don't have to hit them over the head with it.  They are still in that "I'm the center of the universe" stage, and even though I do know some adults who have yet to move out of that stage, I know my girls will.  It's my job to get them there, as it's my job to let them feel loved, respected, protected, and cared for. 

In fairness to dear Virginie, she woke up at 6:45 am and was put down for a nap at school at one o'clock.  She really wasn't tired tonight when bedtime rolled around.  No matter the schedule I'd dreamed up, that chil' was not goin' nowhere near that bed.  I had to change my program, do something other than I'd hoped until she was ready.  It's a short time, this.  I keep hearing that.  All the mommies are out there shoutin' it.  I do, I do, I do believe it.  I do.  But I want to create, to make things, to do.  I want to be seen and heard and understood too.  I love to talk to the girls about their hopes and dreams and whims and fantasies.  But I want to express mine too. 

I am staying up late again tonight.  It's quiet and I am writing.  Here.  In a journal.  On a manuscript.  Everywhere I can get a thought out.  And I am crying because this quiet time, night time, is one of my favorites and I am torn between wanting to share it with my girls, mark it on their souls as special time with Mommy or save it for myself as the same.


(c) Copyright 2012.  Repatriated Mama:Back to the Suburban Grind.