Wednesday, September 8, 2010
This is not Cyrus having a rest. Oh no.
Rest Time is for the weak.
Rest Time is for those other three-year-olds, who do not live in my house, who gladly give their mothers an hour or so of peace. Rest Time is for those children with no imagination. For those who cannot see how marvelously fun it would be to take ones room apart toy by toy, and then venture into their brother's bedroom to dismantle his Lego creations.
Rest Time is for those who don't seek new discoveries, like how much toilet paper a toilet bowl can hold and still flush. Or perhaps what might happen if one sneaks out of one's bedroom and smooshes the toothpaste together with the liquid hand soap. Rest Time is for those who don't seek new horizons, like the top of their mother's wardrobe or the deepest reaches of treasures under his brother's bed.
Rest Time is for those who cannot see that the dirty clothes basket is indeed a boat waiting to be sailed across the hallway. Or that all the clothes in ones drawers could form a Picasso type picture when strewn across the floor. Rest Time is for seeing how long it will take Mommy to figure out that nothing like 'resting' is occurring. Or for seeing how long it will take her to abandon her Writing Hour, the word count, any looming deadlines and finally admit that she will get exactly no writing done at all today.
Rest Time is for turning beds into trampolines and Mommy's nerves into a plate of spaghetti...
No, this photo was not taken at Rest Time. This picture is Bed Time. A time when Mommy sits, has a cup of tea ( or glass of wine) and then creeps bleary eyed with her rose coloured glasses firmly in place into her son's room and imagines she would like another one. Bed Time is for looking at that little face with those apple-pie cheeks and falling in love all over again. Bed Time is when all is forgiven, because look at him people. And tell me, could you stay mad?
What about you? If you write or pursue anything in life with kids in tow... how do you do it?