Snug as a Bug

I have several favorite moments in my day: When I wake up between 4 and 5 a.m., feel the relief that it's not yet time to get up, and scoot closer to JP so he'll do his auto-snuggle reflex and pull me up tight against him with a satisfied sigh.  When I go in to Claire's room around 7:15 a.m., pause outside the door to smile at the duo of giggling as Landon entertains her, and then open her door to watch her hyperventilate with happiness at my arrival.  When I get to my desk around 8:15, freshly steeped cup of earl grey tea in hand, still full of optimism that today won't be as bad as the last 15 workdays have been (today's was worse, actually, but I didn't know that at 8:15). And when I walk in the door at daycare, usually at 5:30 p.m., but lately at 6:05, and Claire's roaming the halls with her teacher, looking like she owns the place, and then she sees me, smiles, and runs to give me a fierce, chubby armed hug.  Those are all great moments.

But my very favorite happens around 11:00 at night when I go back upstairs to check on the kids before JP and I go to bed.  I tiptoe in to Claire's room, find her perpendicular to the bed, turned half on her side, with all her blankets tucked in a ball at the opposite end.  I put her back in the right spot, tuck her little blanket over her, and kiss her on her head saying, "night night sweet girl."  Next is Landon's room, where I usually find him on his back, knees bent up, one arm thrown across the bed, covers pushed to the bottom.  His animals are on the floor, a dump truck is probably on the pillow, and his disco light is on, pulsing neon light across the room like a downtown club.  I turn off the strobe light, relax his legs, and pull up his covers.  He gets a light kiss on the forehead and "sleep tight buddy" before I close the door and walk downstairs.

And for whatever reason, it's that moment-- not the mortgage, bills, or health insurance spreadsheet I just made to compare JP's coverage to mine, but the tucking-in of chubby-cheeked children who are sleeping with utter abandon because they feel such safety under our roof, that makes me feel like a responsible grown-up. A very loved, very needed grown-up.  And while I love having them awake to laugh and play with, no moment makes me feel as warm inside as that one.  And that warm feeling carries me to my own bed, where I curl up with my husband and know that no matter how crazy and exhausting the past two weeks have been, we'll get up and do it again because we're lucky, and this is all a privilege, and life is good as long as I get to tuck them in tomorrow night too.