Headed Out

If I were smart, I'd go to bed now, chatter my way through getting undressed, plunge myself under the covers, curl into a ball, and wait for my body to warm the sheets. But I won't. I've trained myself; I practice a blind devotion to late hours. I love being awake when the children are sleeping, even after a day like today, where, as my mother aptly described, all events fit into each other like puzzle pieces, tightly without space in between. But I got everything done that I aimed to; last column for December written, last minute shopping accomplished, tea sipped with my dear friend, an interview conducted with Mimi (fabulous woman, fount of history), cakes baked for a University party, supper delivered to a new-baby-family, suitcases packed. At some point soon--perhaps the first morning when I awaken in Seattle with few to no responsibilities--I am fully expecting that Christmas will hit me and I'll be bowled over with joy and peace.

Just as an aside, I've been reflecting on how peaceful, generally, I feel these days, and I think one big reason is that I'm getting to work--a little and in spurts--but work nonetheless, and by this I mean work separate from the very hard work of parenting and running a household. I still balance this, in partnership with Martin, in the context of being with the children, but I find that after I write an article or interview someone, I have renewed energy to get on the floor and play tea party with the sweet girls. I recently saw a lovely mother with a new baby, and any sadness I felt at being "done" with babies evaporated. Ah, I love sleeping through the night; I love children who evidence a semblance of independence, and though I love holding a baby, I am content to give her back to her mother. I shall enjoy this small zen while it lasts. Wish me good speed, friends. I'm headed out of the freezing cold, due west.