Moments

Every night when she's supposed to be falling asleep, my little one spends about 20 minutes sitting in her bed, potchkeying with her dolls.  She arranges so many of them around her that we often joke she'll have no room to sleep.  She'll put all of her babies in a row, tuck them under blankets, gather accessories like a comb, magic wand, and a hand-held mirror, and snuggle in the middle of them.  As I sit in her room waiting for her to fall asleep, my mind is like a grounded plane, waiting to take off.  I'm running through my to-do list for the evening- get the laundry into the dryer, load the dishwasher, clean up dinner, neaten up, make lunches, whatever.  I've given all I can all day long, and I'm ready to switch gears.  My instinct is to tell my daughter, "Lie down. Stop it.  Shush.  Rest."  Often I do.  But what I've learned, when I stopped to actually pay attention, when I quieted my brain and allowed myself to observe and experience, is how important this ritual is to my daughter.  Just as I need to end my evening knowing I've done all that is essential to me, she feels the same.  The satisfaction and peace she finds in settling her beloved friends in for the evening is not unlike my need to go to bed with a clean kitchen sink and a swept dining room floor.  No matter how many times I urge her to be still, she's going to engage in her routine whether I like it or not.  I can miss the significance of it and try to rush her to sleep, or I can embrace this sweet, short-lived moment.  It's only a matter of time before these dolls will be collecting dust, no longer needed or treasured.  So for now, I'll allow myself to slow down, focus on this moment rather than rushing to the next one, and enjoy the show.