There's nothing a few graham crackers, a cold glass of milk, and a nap can't cure.
Perhaps that's not entirely true. But how would it be if we could force all the world's leaders into one room, make them sit quietly at a table of crackers and milk, ensuring that they snap each rectangle into perfect fourths, then dip each carefully into their milk just long enough to take off the dryness but not so long that it breaks and drops to the bottom of the glass. After their bellies were full, they would then be directed to sit cross-legged (providing they don't have arthritic hips and knees) and listen to a story-book read to them out loud. One of the classics. "Three Billie-Goats Gruff", "Jack and the Bean-stalk", or perhaps "Chicken-Little". They then would get out their napping mats and close their eyes for just the right amount of time. Not too much. Not too little. A little like Goldilocks. They would awaken on their own with a renewed sense of self, and sense of community; full of dedication to ensure world peace and prosperity for all!
Sometimes it's the simple things that are the most difficult.
I've never been a great napper. As the fourth of five children, being told "It's nap-time Allyson" translated in my mind to "It's time for you to go lie down and most certainly miss out on all the fun everyone else will be having without you." When I was five years old we had traveled from Texas to Arizona to visit my Auntie Jan and our grandparents . My other aunt, Juliana, a TWA stewardess (that's what they were called back in the day) would be flying in from Paris to visit us all. She would be coming in on a red-eye flight. "I get to stay up past mid-night!" made me all the more excited. My grandmother gently pulled me over to her knee and explained to me that because we would be going to the airport so late, I would need to go lie down on Auntie Jan's bed and take a nap. I was horrified. First of all, "I'm not a baby." second of all, "You're only my grandmother not my mother and you aren't really the one that's supposed to tell me what to do." (a sassy grand-child). I ran to my mother to tattle. She bent down to me and quietly said "You don't have to go to sleep, just lie down for a few minutes..."
"I'm just going to rest my eyes"....a nap at Auntie Jan's, Joel, me, Daddy
As an exhausted sleep-deprived young mother of little people "Just nap while your baby naps!" meant sitting upright in a recliner, my head slowly bobbing lower and lower over my nursing baby while trying to remain somewhat attentive to older children and toddlers didn't do any harm to themselves or each other. Sleep was so elusive that when the stars would finally align and I could actually sleep, it would be the last thing I was able to do. Instead, staring at the ceiling waiting for the baby to surely wake up, or worse, not wake up. That's when the Sunday nap became another thing to worship. "Your Daddy is home, go ask him and let me sleep for thirty minutes".
Sometimes I think teenagers need sleep even more than babies and toddlers. With so much available caffeine, electronics, and fast-paced schedules, do they have enough down-time. Literally do nothing time. Time to just sit on the grass and be bored. Time to look up at the sky and imagine what shapes the clouds are and why does the moon shine in the sky during the day, and wonder about their own uniqueness in the vastness of space. Daydream; and maybe just doze off for a few minutes. Recharge. Refresh. Grow.
There's the risk of napping way too long though. As a bored teenager not allowed to watch T.V. on Sundays, or hang out with friends, a long nap after reading the comic section of the newspaper, was a welcome escape to help the day go by more quickly. The whole family would nap. Daddy, still in his white shirt and tie, and open book on his chest. Mama, in her Sunday dress on the living room floor near the fan (just for fifteen minutes before she would leave for choir practice), the teenagers, always the longest naps.
Fourteen years old, and sound asleep. My little brother Joel, eleven, was sent to wake me up for an early Sunday dinner of roast, potatoes and gravy. I had fallen asleep feeling slightly hungry but not wanting to ruin my appetite, figured I'd eat when I woke up; the scent of the beef roasting in the cast iron pan made my stomach growl. It must have been over an hour of deep dreaming.
My bedroom door burst open, and Joel began rapidly flipping my overhead light-switch off and on. "Wake-Up! Wake-Up! Wake-Up!" Exactly as most any other boy his age would have done. As a mother of five sons, I know this now of course. But my fourteen-year-old self went ballistic. "GEEEEET OOOOUUUUUT!!!" "Nope! Mama told be to wake you up so we can eat and I'm hungry so get up!" "flip flip. flip flip." More light switch business. His mission now accomplished, I did get up. I got up, shoved him out of my room, slammed my door and took the photo-booth picture we had taken together off my bulletin board and ripped it in half. I can still hear the sound of it tearing in two. Now I was fully awake. And full of regret. Tears stung my eyes. What did I just do?! "He's such a brat. Why did he have to wake me up like THAT?" I could smell dinner. And now I thought I smelled the hint of Mama's usual Sunday dessert. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Hunger overcame pride and I slowly walked down the hall to the dinner table. Joel shrugged his shoulders and grinned at me. Daddy reached out for my right hand, I reached out for Joel's hand with my left. Mama said the blessing on the food.
Frenemies
Today is Sunday and I woke early with a bit of a head-ache. No matter I thought, I'll just take a nap later on after church. My nest is empty now, and on Sundays I now feel a bit like a teenager. No obligations or responsibilities for just a few hours. A nap. Ten minutes. Perfect for me. Just enough to recharge. Enough time to think about nothing for a little while.
Just not quite long enough to solve world peace.
Free-range kids
Joel - the best little brother in the world
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