Get Sidetracked!

Or rather, "get back on track" would be a better way to put it. It's all about the focus.

Generally, by about eight PM, I'm focused on having a quiet home, a clean kitchen, and an entire cup of coffee downed without interruption. Eight is my arsenic hour. I know for most families it's that hour just before supper's ready - when you're trying to prepare supper, and the kids' sugar levels have plummeted, and the dog decides to mark the &%%#@ couch (or worse, the baby). I've been able to avoid that by slipping the kids protein snacks at regular intervals starting right around two in the afternoon, not letting the dog anywhere near the baby, and for supper - I either have it together early enough in the day that getting it done can masquerade as a fun family project, or I can just not make eye contact with Zorak until he gives up and fixes it. So, in all, that time frame works out okay for us.

But it's that bewitching second where 7:59 flips over to 8:00. I can't get it out of my head that the kids should be in bed by then. Zorak can't quite get on board with the idea that they should be in bed by then. And so, when that part of the day nears, he's busy not making eye contact with me (yes, revenge, a dish best served right after the supper she made you fix... I know), and I'm trying to get everybody to brush their teeth between bites so we can get to bed NOW. Obviously, it's easy to lose the focus in this poorly orchestrated bit of family life.

Tonight, after getting the small one down, I realized it was Awfully Quiet. I peeked into the boys' room - their lights were off, and all was quiet. I peeked into our room - Smidge and Zorak were out cold, cattywampus across the bed. Huh. Weird. No stories. No singing. No bad jokes. Just... Quiet. Balto and I hung out and watched Waiting for God on PBS. He didn't laugh so much, but I thought it was a great way to spend some of the Quiet. Then I came in, fresh cuppa joe in hand, remnants of a pecan pie in the other hand, ready to do a little blog work. I had just settled in when I heard the telltale swoosh of the toilet that tells me someone is up.

I listened (the speed and tone of the footfall that follows lets me know who is up, and why). Ah. It was James. Moving more slowly than when he's just hotfootin' it to bed. Coming up the hall.

And you know, I'm glad. I mean, I'm not glad the poor kid was up at ten-thirty at night because he couldn't sleep. But I'm glad he knew he could come to me and sit and talk, hang out, read a few stories together. We talked about a few things, about nothing. Just being together was nice.

After about an hour, his head grew heavy on my shoulder, and his eyes didn't quite recover from each blink. That was good timing on his part, because I'd suddenly started winging most of the story I was reading to him. Suddenly, there was a monster and a witch and a toad riding a horse. We got a good chuckle out of that. (I hope he will be that understanding when I do that from sheer dementia rather than sleepiness.) And then, off to bed.

And now... it is Quiet again. But this quiet feels better. My focus is back on track, where it should be. Those little ones in the back rooms, all now sleeping peacefully. Yeah, that's what it's about. And I'm thankful that I don't get so hung up in what I *think* things should be that I miss what they really are, because it's a whole lot better this way.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy