before bed

The children went to be a little late tonight.  For some random reason, the time before bed became naked-time.  And then, I cannot tell you why, naked-time turned into wrestle-with-Dada time.  Before we knew it,  wrestle-with-Dada time turned into smother-Dada-with-kisses-time.    And that was how, in a matter of seconds, all hope of being-sleepy-soon was replaced with shrieking-giggle-laughs . and it was totally worth it!

the story of Charlie’s Bedtime Song

Way back when, when I was just out of college, so young and so broke, God lent me to the Hartman family.  I learned I adore young children by nanny-ing their three littles (6mo, 3 and 4yrs old) To be thrust from single girlhood into the duties (part time though they were) of a mother/caretaker of three was quite the learning curve.  And I am so blest by those lessons to this day!  From their parents I learned how to stop to talk, to listen to children and to explain.  From their boys I learned to treasure the seeds of fierce manhood that exist in little boys’ hearts (and a lot of baseball statistics!).  And from that Ella-girl I learned that you could physically fall in love with a baby and end up pushing your own heart around in a stroller.  And so I did what young broke lovers do.  I wrote her a song.  It was a melody made up of nonsensical syllables and I hummed it when I put her to sleep or when she needed comfort.  She called it the ‘Zaza Song’.

When her family moved away and I got married,  a little piece of living heart string between her and I broke.  And we were both sad. Then I put words to her song and sang it as a prayer for her.  Here and there, I sang it over other special children (Cole, that’s you!), falling asleep in my arms.

And now I have Charlie, my own boy, my own flesh, and Wendy, my own heart.              

Though I can’t remember to take my grocery list with me when I go shopping or even what day of the week it is sometimes, this melody stays.   It comes floating back through my mind like a ‘go-to’ salve, with new appropriate words when my children are hurt or sick or scared of the dark. 

Lately it has become Charlie’s only request at bedtime:  “Mama, pwee sing da song you maked up for me.”  The love and prayers I’ve had for all the children I’ve cared for over the years have filtered and distilled into this: 

Charlie’s Bedtime Song

And have no fear, my little bird.
The Lord holds you in his hand.
He’ll keep you safe while it is dark,
and wake you to see the light.

For God loves you and God loves me.
I know that this is true.
He gave us Jesus Christ his son,
To make us his children too.

He helps us when we do not obey,
to confess, repent and change.
He'll never stop, he loves you so,
and Mama and Dada too.

So go to sleep, and while you sleep,
you worship him with your dreams.
And sing your song, when you wake up,
of all that He’s done for you. 

And though I sing it to him every night and he calls it his by right, I still remember a girl with dark curls who began it all. I sing with a thankful heart for the gift of love she and her family so freely shared. So rich we all are in the Father’s care!

From Mama, from KK, with love.

::Tonight::

(…in the style of Soule Mama…)

Tonight I am…

::finding it appropriate that I fed Wendy her first sweet potatoes out of my favorite china teacup because all our ramekins are full of watercolor paint!  (…and of course she loved them.  How could she not with such beautiful presentation!)

::recovering from a long rainy day inside with a two-year-old boy and a teething infant.

::putting rain boots in size 11-12 on my shopping list…how could I not have those for this muddy Fall season?

::amazed by the quantity and quality of crafters who have  unique voices/blogs on the internet

::deciding that I need to set a time limit and also a timer when I decide to log into Pinterest, ahem!

::wishing I spent more of my time tonight knitting  (…someone please tell me how to browse the internet and knit at the same time and I will be happy happy happy!)

::thinking there is not enough Aquaphor in the world to fix the state my hands are in

::wondering how in the world we got that many hand-wash only dishes  dirty anyways  (oh yeah, all the painting, and making of granola, scones, bread, stew, and spagehtti we’ve done over the last three days!)

::thankful for a husband who encourages me to voice my opinion even when it differs from his—and all the growing up I’ve done in this area since I met him

::loving this silent house where everyone is asleep but me, and all the lights are off except the dimmed ones above the bed that he left on for me.

::going to bed!

A Poem Inspired by Bedtime

We Boys and Girls

Sleep:

He quiets to him

and she to me.

At night, his exploding boy energy needs

a man’s stern strength

for still and calm.

Where my gentleness elicits endless negotiations,

his fears are quelled by his father’s tall frame, large hands and whispered prayers.

Yet she,

in her rosebud, chrysalis of a body,

lost in layers of soft blankets and fat,

she, quiets to my hands.

She takes my song, my scent and

melts sleep heavy against my bones

until I am undone by her trust.

We are gloriously different, Him and I,

(as are they, the he and she we’ve put to sleep this night)

and though our love wears different hands, uses a different voice and
speaks with different words,

We are we.

We are as fiercely we as they are fiercely ours.

And in the end, when the day is done;

I quiet to him

and he to me.