Ok. I've been the nanny for 36 hours and I'm already taking a four and a half hour break. A well deserved four and a half hour break.
First night: 5 hours of sleep, and that's generous in the count.
Last night: Awakened at 10, 11 and 12:30 by the baby (adorable, but not as adorable at 12:30), who must miss his parents, and the 8 year old who needed cough syrup.
I love these children, they are my grandchildren, but let me restate the obvious--I needed a break. Who knows what tonight will bring. Fortunately, Tony and I are the nanny team.
Last night, when I thought about the babysitter coming in the morning, I didn't even know what I was going to do or where I was going to go. At 8:15 this morning when sweet Chandler, standing in the 19 degree cold, rang the doorbell, I knew: home. My refuge. In the twenty minute drive, I contemplated and relished the supreme pleasures of home. Even driving down a main street that led to home was sweet.
When I opened the fridge, I pulled out the vegetable and fruit bins that had needed cleaning for a few weeks. However, this morning it was a simple privilege to fill them with warm water and soap, wash, dry, and re-insert.
I was then drawn to my study; a room that is totally mine, a reflection of my crazy organization, my tastes, travels, photos, maps, and loves. The place that always reflects where I am in life: the open literature anthology, the newly hung poster of the Civil Rights documentary, the stack of books waiting to be read, my father's Book of Remembrance propped up against my desk. I clicked on the electric blanket and sat in the big purple chair by the window. Ahhhhh. Home.
I answer some important, neglected emails with only the soft hum of the heater. I check bank accounts, and finally, sit down to do what I couldn't have done in the past day and a half: write.
I am absolutely convinced that every human, woman, man, and child needs a place of refuge. A place where the tension dissipates, the place that feels like an electric blanket turning on in the cold. How blessed when that place is home. That is why in part, I moved to my daughter's house to care for her children for a week. As much as they might love Tony and me, with their parents gone, those children need their familiar place of refuge. How blessed I am that their refuge, my refuge is a place of love, acceptance and warmth. And what a blessing that my feelings for a place of refuge is renewed after prioritizing their needs.
First night: 5 hours of sleep, and that's generous in the count.
Last night: Awakened at 10, 11 and 12:30 by the baby (adorable, but not as adorable at 12:30), who must miss his parents, and the 8 year old who needed cough syrup.
I love these children, they are my grandchildren, but let me restate the obvious--I needed a break. Who knows what tonight will bring. Fortunately, Tony and I are the nanny team.
Last night, when I thought about the babysitter coming in the morning, I didn't even know what I was going to do or where I was going to go. At 8:15 this morning when sweet Chandler, standing in the 19 degree cold, rang the doorbell, I knew: home. My refuge. In the twenty minute drive, I contemplated and relished the supreme pleasures of home. Even driving down a main street that led to home was sweet.
When I opened the fridge, I pulled out the vegetable and fruit bins that had needed cleaning for a few weeks. However, this morning it was a simple privilege to fill them with warm water and soap, wash, dry, and re-insert.
I was then drawn to my study; a room that is totally mine, a reflection of my crazy organization, my tastes, travels, photos, maps, and loves. The place that always reflects where I am in life: the open literature anthology, the newly hung poster of the Civil Rights documentary, the stack of books waiting to be read, my father's Book of Remembrance propped up against my desk. I clicked on the electric blanket and sat in the big purple chair by the window. Ahhhhh. Home.
I answer some important, neglected emails with only the soft hum of the heater. I check bank accounts, and finally, sit down to do what I couldn't have done in the past day and a half: write.
I am absolutely convinced that every human, woman, man, and child needs a place of refuge. A place where the tension dissipates, the place that feels like an electric blanket turning on in the cold. How blessed when that place is home. That is why in part, I moved to my daughter's house to care for her children for a week. As much as they might love Tony and me, with their parents gone, those children need their familiar place of refuge. How blessed I am that their refuge, my refuge is a place of love, acceptance and warmth. And what a blessing that my feelings for a place of refuge is renewed after prioritizing their needs.