Peace

It’s 6am. The house is quiet, the kids are still sleeping. Or at least they are supposed to be sleeping. My middle child, the early riser, I suspect, is reading her latest book with a flashlight under her covers. I don’t mind, as long as I have a moment of peace. I don’t always have this much time to prepare—I tend to stay under the covers too long—but this morning I could see the sun through the crack of the door, and decided to take advantage.

The kids aren’t allowed to come downstairs until 7am. We got them each digital clocks for their rooms as soon as they knew their numbers. We figure that they need their sleep, so this might encourage them to sleep longer without feeling as though they’re missing something. It doesn’t really work that way, it turns out, but at least they stay in their rooms. Before the rule, we had kids coming down at all kinds of crazy hours ready for the fun to begin.

Before I had kids I’m sure I would have thought this a selfish rule. Why even have kids if you don’t want them around? My mom’s standing rule was that we couldn’t bother her until she had her first cup of coffee. I hated that one.

There are two things I know I need: a good sleep, and a few minutes of wake-up time before I start my day. I remember more than a few days during their early years where I just felt cranky and resentful. I’m sure it was because I was never really able to sleep a full night, and I felt as though I did most of the child-related work. Those days and bad feelings are mostly a blur now, but the lessons learned keep me sane. It really is true: If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

When my little traveling circus comes bounding down the stairs in a few minutes looking for food, I’ll be ready for them. They’ll know I’m anxious to see them after a whole night apart, and we’ll start our day in a positive way. Time to refill my coffee.