he crawls into the empty pre-dawn space daddy made, flings his legs over mine, and quickly drops back to sleep.
waking hours later, he speaks to me of colorful video-pixeled dreams.
parenting as a spiritual practice
my darling boy has reached a stage where, unprompted and of his own accord, he has gotten serious about making his bed!
my mate and i don’t fret about unmade beds. but, over the years, stripping off the linens and putting on fresh sheets has become a family sport. the kiddo loves to climb into the center of a quilt to be “swung and flung” until our arms burn.
our bed is his playground where comforters get piled high and molded into mountains with winding roads and caves for crooks to hide out in. we are constantly rolling onto Legos or getting a stray car wedged at the base of tangled sheets. recently, K has taken to assiduously smoothing out our queen-sized bedding–circling from head to foot as he pulls each corner tightly down around the edges–so that his constructions have a solid foundation. and he’ll huff and reprimand us if we make a wrinkle!
that’s all for play. but, to take such time and care with his own bed, is a whole new thing! so i asked why he started making his bed in the morning, and K explained that he didn’t like it to be “all crumply” because it was too small. plain and simple.
to me: a sweet reminder that my on-the-brink-of-five-year-old is growing into an awareness of the order and suchness of his domain.
sharing the sweetness of breath, warmth, quiet, and rest
until the snoring begins
and blankets become tangled and hot
or hogged and coveted
and stray limbs wander into sensitive territories
leaving me the “wakeful flea” to balance hip-heavy on the inches near the edge
crowded, I roll over and out
while the two bears cuddling in the bed sigh deeply and spread wider
sweatered and socked
or wrapped in a cozy,
I snuggle up in solitude and free space