When I hear the birds start chirping, I know I’ve stayed up a tad too late for my current starring role as a mama. *sigh* I can’t help it- all my life I have preferred the solitude and quiet and productivity of the wee hours.
Between ten and three, the amount I get accomplished is astonishing. Those also tend to be the hours my creativity, ideas and pondering peaks. It must be the quiet. The dear, sweet, rare, lovely quiet so scarce to a mama of young children. Time to stare at the paint, if I so chose. Time to let the cogs of my whirling brain wind down. Time to sit with myself, hear myself breathe, and to remember who I am- besides a human napkin.
Time to go to my studio and make stuff. Never chores, never housework. Wasting my precious solitude on dishes only happens when the dishes are crawling from the sink by themselves. And even then, it’s a quick once-over and on to bigger and brighter things. This is a fundamental need for me… to be alone. To be in quiet, and most importantly, to have the experience of no one needing me. Everyone else is settled in, kissed, tucked, watered, and off to the Land of Nod. The only person who needs me right now, is me. *deep…sigh*
Having this time, I firmly believe, helps me be a better mama. Oh, sure, I’m tired when the Monkeys bound out of bed at 6:30- but I would be a real wreak if I didn’t have anything that was just mine. I don’t stay up so late every night- I would be a wreak then, too. But once or twice a week, being tired the next day is a price I’m more than willing to pay. And Friday nights, sweet, sweet Friday… when I know my lovely, wonderful husband will take care of the kids in the morning, and I can actually take my time, and get to sleep in.
So here I sit, 2:15 a.m., fresh from my studio- covered in threads and fibers (my kids call it mom-fuzz, and it trails me wherever I go), my fingers stained with ink, back burning a bit from bending over my cutting table all night, pencils and paintbrushes stuck in my messy knot of hair (it works great), and my heart is content.
That, and hearing the soft breathing of my sleeping babies on the monitor… Life is perfect.