The Day of Rest(lessness)

     Sunday morning; the beginning of the seventh day which the last time I checked, was a day for rest.  Ha!  Tell that to my 4 year old.  She is like the energizer bunny, except dressed in a pink nightie and way cuter.  My guilt kicks into high gear as I tell her for the sixth time in a period of 15 minutes that I just want to wake up a bit before I transform into her playmate. 

     I sip my Starbucks and lazily read the paper which offers me nothing except a coupon for razors and some soap but it is a lovely time.  I want to do nothing more than this  but what is a mom to do when a little girl awaits anxiously with two princess dolls in her hand?   I know she is just waiting for eye contact with me; her opportunity to pass along Cinderella so I might engage in conversation with her Sleeping Beauty.  But I just want to relax.  I really, really want to chill.  I just want that quiet time that a person without parental obligations takes for granted.  I look at her.  She is like cotton candy in the morning-deliciously sweet.  Her blonde, fine hair is still fresh with dreams as she clutches her cozy blanket and sucks her thumb.  She waits next to me.  She waits.

     Fifteen minutes more and I give in.  The 30 minutes of time I stole certainly was not entirely mine but I did finish my cup of coffee and subsequently the caffeine provided me with the energy I needed to show up at the ball and make small talk with the other princesses. 

     “I think I am just getting old,” I say to my husband.  “I don’t remember being so tired with the other two.”  In this case, I don’t mind owning up to my age.  But, if I am honest with myself, I can probably place only 10% on the age thing.  60% is the lazy thing and 30% is the painful truth that I have been here two times prior and the novelty of entertaining a little one has worn a bit thin.  The only reason I can admit this is that I am otherwise confident in my parenting and, once you reach your mid-forties, it is a lot easier to come clean on things (no matter how incriminating those things might be). 

     Sleeping Beauty and I make small talk.  She doesn’t want to share her crown or swap shoes.  (I always get the doll with the chewed off limbs and she can’t share accessories?  So not fair!)  We hook up with Rapunzel and Ariel at the ball.  There is fight over who will dance with the Prince Naveen.  Of course Sleeping Beauty wins.  This becomes a coaching moment where I step out of character to remind my daughter that when she plays this game with her friends, she must share the prince.  She is quick to inform me that Sleeping Beauty is not only the prettiest but also the nicest so she should always get the prince.  Hmmm, okay.  Makes sense to me.  I go back into play mode.

     Twenty minutes pass and so does my daughter’s interest.  She drops the dolls and now wants to make a fort with the couch.  I quietly sigh with relief and eye the paper thinking maybe…. but no.  She needs me to help her draw rainbows in the fort.   I explain that mommy doesn’t fit in the fort.  You can draw outside of the fort, she says.  Okay.  I give in.  A rainbow with 6 colors it is. 

     As we draw I explain how much fun it is to create an imaginary friend.  “Then you can play any game you want at any time!” I express with an animated smile.  She pauses and looks at me like I am nuts. 

“Mommy, why don’t you rest a bit.  I am going to go play with daddy.”

“What a perfect idea!  Daddy is way more fun than an imaginary friend!” 

She runs off in her pink deliciousness and I settle into the couch once more and grab that paper knowing that I am on borrowed time.  After all, it is Sunday, the day of rest(lessness).