In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

In the wee small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep, you lie awake and think about the girl ( and the boy, and the husband and the bank account and all the tasks you have to do, and the state of affairs in your life and the world at large ) and never, ever think of counting sheep.

I am our night time security. Why get an alarm system? Between my son, Andrew and I there is usually someone up all night anyway.

I’ve become a patron of the night.   It’s not really the wisest choice healthwise. I know this. But I keep staying up anyway. Is it because I have adult kids at home that are always up late? Perhaps. Sometimes this is the only time I get to talk to them. Is it because very often they are not home and I am waiting up for them?  Sure.   Is it because I am busy doing things that should have been done in daylight hours? Sometimes. Often I am getting ready for some event and I am up making pies or cookies or cakes and cupcakes. Sometimes I’m making cards and banners.  Often I’m waiting for laundry.  Or maybe, its just because I can.  I don’t have to go to bed early and feel FOMO because I don’t have to get up at 5:30 anymore.  Mostly I am holding a book in my hand or my iPad (opened to Pinterest) and dozing in my favorite chair in the living room as I pretend to listen to Ella, Frank or Louis serenade with their smooth musical stylings.

When I finally do crawl into my soft, warm, comfy bed next to my snoring husband, I am SO grateful for the privilege of being able to do so.  Why don’t I do it earlier?   Very often its been a great day and I don’t want it to end.  Sometimes I wonder if I think I’m stopping time by stalling the next days arrival.  If I’m not dozing then I actually am reading, which I cherish and I just don’t seem to find time during my hectic unemployed days to read.  I’m too busy squandering time doing other OCD tasks.

I think my subconscious is telling me this is ‘my’ time.  This is the only time that really belongs to me and no other.  I’ve grown accustomed to the night sounds or lack thereof.   If I’m doing laundry, buying groceries, cleaning, organizing, out with my mother, running errands, out with friends (I will always drop everything to go for coffee (and I don’t even drink coffee))or even creating and working – by day, it feels like that is all done for someone else and I certainly don’t mind it at all.  But the night…the quiet, peaceful, restful, dark night draws me into its arms and there I snuggle up and rest in its reverie.

The darkness is easier on the eyes.  I also find that I can’t get into too much trouble in the night.  I so enjoy the warmth of lamplight and the fireplace which are much more conducive to night.  Its like sitting around the campfire without the smell of smoke permeating your hair and clothes and without the off-key campfire sing songs.  Of course,  I only love this whole nighttime thing when I am inside my blessed, warm, safe, cozy home, sitting in my favorite chair, dressed in my jammies and a cozy sweater (in the winter) with a cup of soothing, steaming beverage in my favorite mug, in hand.

But finally, I succumb to the call of my mattress (missing box springs and all) and crawl in and feel a sense of euphoria as my body is so glad to get rid of the weight of itself.  I hear my husbands breathing.  I listen to the sway of the aspens in the wind outside my window. And I count my blessings before I fall into a deep, other worldly sleep and all the muscles of my body breath a sigh of relief as does my weary heart. And the nighttime finally begins its healing.