Zen

When the wee one's bedtime rolls around, I find myself rounding the final parenting stretch of the day.  (Unless, of course, the still of the night is shattered by a 2:00 am wake-up call coming from the general direction of the nursery.  Luckily, those days are fewer and farther between.)

Last night it consisted of a brisk scrub-down to remove excess grape peels and left-over cereal crumbs that manged to persist since breakfast.  It also consisted of new jammies and more cheerfulness than normal.  So, being the tired mom I was, I let it ride.  I figured I'd lie on the floor for a few minutes while the wee one amused himself (and me) and expended a little more of that effervescent energy.  And then, of course, I'd dutifully execute the rest of the routine.

As I lay face-down on his gray carpet, suddenly I felt the weight of little arms and little feet on my back...and then my neck...and then my head...and finally my face...as I was steamrolled by my 16-month old.  He thought it was pretty hilarious.  And, indeed, it was.  This scenario repeated itself a couple more times, with him finally landing on the floor, his body perpendicular to mine.  His little feet came to a rest on my curled-up knees.

Earlier in the day, I had opened the bedroom windows to show Spring that, although it may be like the prodigal son--wasting its beauty in the cold, but finally coming home to warmth--we still welcome it with open arms...and windows.  Outside, it seemed as though children, like fairies, were appearing out of nowhere and everywhere to bask in what was left of the dying day.  We could hear them squealing with laughter and a happiness that only sunshine brings.

As I lay there, now on my side, on that gray carpet, I was suddenly transported back 10, 15, 20 and yes, even 25 years.  I felt the memories of my life, my childhood, rush in through that open window and dance around me.  I looked at my son and his little feet on my knee and thought, "How did I get here?  I was just there!" And for a moment, I was deeply envious of the life he has yet to live.  Until I realized that it's life that I have yet to live.  His childhood will be my childhood again.  This time however, I will be living it from the outside, in.

We lay there, we two, in silence.  The laughter of children, the song of birds, the WHir WHir WHir of the ceiling fan brought rhythm and rest to us.  After several minutes, the wee one crawled over to me and snuggled himself into my curvature.  Suddenly the rest of the bed-time routine seemed of little importance.  My heart nearly burst for sweetness and love.

The moments and minutes passed as we lay there, we two, in silence.  And as we did, I felt profound peace--an all encompassing zen.  I felt at one with myself, my world and my wee one.  All was calm.  All was bright.  And everything seemed just right.  In that moment, I felt Heaven's rest.

And it has been with me ever since.