Sunday, March 10, 2013

Sunday Afternoon - Memory in the Making....

     They're all in there. If I look over my left shoulder, I can see them now as I sit here at the computer. About 30 minutes ago, I came into a state of wakefulness - eyes closed, snuggled under a quilt with Crackhouse Puppy (whose new name is Cinderblock because he weighs a ton!) asleep on my lap. I had napped so hard, on this - the First day of Daylight Savings Time, that it took me a few minutes to gather myself. We had slept so long that the T.V. had even shut itself off, due to inactivity. In the quiet of my dark little den, as I lay stretched out in the recliner, I listened for the sounds I love above all others - sounds that alerted me to the location of my loved ones. There was a stretchy, moany sound - Baby Girl must be sleeping on the sofa. Next came a chuffing kind of sound - Babiest girl was in the recliner next to mine. After a moment, I heard the sound that is so often missing here lately.....the thick sleepy throat clearing of College Boy. This was the catalyst that made my eyes open....we were all out of surfaces by my reckoning - sofa, and both recliners full of the Kennedy women. I released the lever on the LaZBoy, shoved the puppy off of my lap and sat up, thinking to find College Boy sitting in the kitchen - on the computer or some such. Just as I stood (no easy chore, since my feet were tangled in quilt and puppy), I heard it again - the same throat clearing that he has made in his sleep since before he could talk in complete sentences. Lo and behold - there he was....wrapped in the green afghan my Sister crocheted me for a wedding present - almost 25 years ago. College Boy was sleeping on the floor in front of the sofa - at the feet of Baby Girl.    
     That sight took me back to the days when child rearing was a full contact sport, and a nap was an unheard of thing. The time when my exhaustion was blinding, and the days ran together in their fullness. The days when the three Kennedy children would go at full speed - from the time their little feet hit the floor (and Lord knows they were all obscenely early risers), until they had each been wrestled into their respective beds for the umpteenth time. Every now and then, as a treat, they were allowed to sleep in the den on a pallet. Blanket piled on top of blanket, pillows from every room in the house - their nest was sumptuous and cozy. On these nights, they were eager to go to bed. There, on the floor of the den they would snuggle and whisper, giggle and dream out loud, until sleep came over them by surprise. They would lay like a tangle of puppies - arms and legs draped over each other - with no clear definition of where one body stopped and the other began. Sometime in the night, each time -I would come out of my bedroom, turn on the light in the kitchen and steal into the den. I would sit in a chair and watch them sleep, in the crack of light that spilled in from the kitchen. I would listen to their sleeping sounds, memorize their faces, and store those memories away for such a time as I might need them....like when they were off to college and driving and babysitting and other such big kid pursuits.
         But today, I do not need that memory - because they are all in there, making their sleeping sounds, wearing the sleepy faces, and needing to be awakened - otherwise, they will never sleep tonight. John will be home from work soon, and we will all sit down to breakfast for supper - a Sunday night favorite. The girls will play hookey from Youth, and we will go to the dollar movie - The Life of Pi, I think. I give thanks for Spring Break - for the week that we have before us to once again be a family of five. I give thanks that my growndy up Boy will still sleep at his sister's feet, that my children love each other. I give thanks for the guitars leaning up against the cabinets, and the myriad shoes strewn hither and yon, upstairs and down. I give thanks for the clementine peels that are piled on the kitchen counter, and the open door letting in the clean air that smells of sunshine and the promise of spring. I give thanks for the memory in the making, in my darkened den, dirty dishes and all...........now, if I could just have that hour back.......

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