I can listen to Pandora for hours while the girls putter, do what they do late at night, as they wind their days down. I do what I do. My husband does the things he does... as my grandfather used to say "My head is asleep before I hit the bed." Truly he was like that, and still, in my minds eye, I remember him wearing a night cape and snoring within the minutes, or less, it took me at 8 to brush my teeth. He slept in the extra bedroom when we came to visit my grandparents. He'd wear his wool night cape, and I'd sleep in the other twin bed that my grandparents had in their bedroom. My sister slept in the portable crib at the foot of the bed. I'm sure the crib would have been confiscated by the police now for all it's insufficiencies. Oh, those days when it was just a bit slower, easier. There wasn't so many questions. When your children went to bed at 12 years old, they went to bed, and you weren't worried what was going on with email, instant messages, etc. Even if you take all those electronics and their heads aren't square, as I tell my children, there's that concern that we never had.
I remember going to bed when the other kids were still up during the summer. My parents were very strict about bedtime. Right outside my bedroom window was the tree that we used to sit in and play. We had a basket, tied to a string. Two of us would climb up and play and the third would put something in the basket, and we would pull it up. I can't remember what was so important that we had to pull up into the tree. Perhaps it was the thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we had for years and years, and water. Maybe if we were lucky, and it was right after shopping day, there might have been an Oreo or Ring Ding.
We would play for hours in that tree. It was outside my parents window, it was outside our bedroom window on the second floor. Kind of hidden by pachysandras. It had the perfect split in the trunk. It was just split enough to climb, to make you feel like you might just be doing something dangerous, but not enough to make you feel like you were really doing anything truly bad.
Then there were the days that our parents let us play outside after we took our bath. My friend, Joanne, and I would dress in matching baby doll pajamas and make up dance routines. We spent hours and hours doing this. I remember my own girls doing the same, though I believe they were younger, and it makes me sad to think that their innocence was gone sooner than my own was. Sad, because part of it was because we always were so open, the girls and I. We spoke of things that were deep secrets. Their souls were opened to things a bit sooner than perhaps they should have been. It was the thought that if I told them, nothing could happen to them. Something would protect them.
The moon, it would protect them. As they ran through the front yard playing soccer in their pajamas, or right before bed. Their feet would be green from the grass. We would laugh and laugh. I would fall, inevitable. Most of the times our nights didn't end as early as mine did as a child. The five - or six of us, depending on how many girls were born, would sit on the front porch and watch the moon come over the pistachio tree. We could barely see the little dipper, but we could almost see the North star. But it didn't matter to the moon. The moon hung were she did every night, holding those moments close to our heart.
I remember going to bed when the other kids were still up during the summer. My parents were very strict about bedtime. Right outside my bedroom window was the tree that we used to sit in and play. We had a basket, tied to a string. Two of us would climb up and play and the third would put something in the basket, and we would pull it up. I can't remember what was so important that we had to pull up into the tree. Perhaps it was the thousands of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we had for years and years, and water. Maybe if we were lucky, and it was right after shopping day, there might have been an Oreo or Ring Ding.
We would play for hours in that tree. It was outside my parents window, it was outside our bedroom window on the second floor. Kind of hidden by pachysandras. It had the perfect split in the trunk. It was just split enough to climb, to make you feel like you might just be doing something dangerous, but not enough to make you feel like you were really doing anything truly bad.
Then there were the days that our parents let us play outside after we took our bath. My friend, Joanne, and I would dress in matching baby doll pajamas and make up dance routines. We spent hours and hours doing this. I remember my own girls doing the same, though I believe they were younger, and it makes me sad to think that their innocence was gone sooner than my own was. Sad, because part of it was because we always were so open, the girls and I. We spoke of things that were deep secrets. Their souls were opened to things a bit sooner than perhaps they should have been. It was the thought that if I told them, nothing could happen to them. Something would protect them.
The moon, it would protect them. As they ran through the front yard playing soccer in their pajamas, or right before bed. Their feet would be green from the grass. We would laugh and laugh. I would fall, inevitable. Most of the times our nights didn't end as early as mine did as a child. The five - or six of us, depending on how many girls were born, would sit on the front porch and watch the moon come over the pistachio tree. We could barely see the little dipper, but we could almost see the North star. But it didn't matter to the moon. The moon hung were she did every night, holding those moments close to our heart.
