Catalina has never quite been a willing napper, and she usually has a non-nap day every week or two. Last week she went on a mini-strike for three days in a row, even convincing Lucy (who will sleep til the cows come home) to strike with her for an afternoon.
It wasn’t a huge deal, but nap time is sacred. It may be my time to wipe high chairs and load dishes, but it’s my time. No one eating my lunch or pushing her sister for the 5th time in as many minutes. I’ve come to expect it, to depend on it. I know I’m not the only one. If I can just make it to nap time is the toddler mom’s mantra.
Yesterday was almost a nap strike day, too. But after a hasty shower, I got out to discover it was quiet. I did a happy dance. It’s amazing how something you come to take for granted can go from being a need to a blessing when it’s not certain. It made today’s afternoon silence extra sweet.
In a way, I’m glad of days like those. When I’m counting on good weather to keep us all happy, and it pours. When I just need some adult company, and Bryant has to work late. They help me genuinely appreciate simple daily things in a new light when the blessing of them has faded.
No-nap days and no-husband nights are small, repeated ways of teaching me the more my hope is in circumstances, the more likely circumstances are to leave me hanging. Chocolate and naps only go so far. My strength and consolation have to come from something more reliable than a peaceful hour in the middle of the day.
I just started a new Bible study on 1 Peter, and the verses I’m currently studying are about our “imperishable, undefiled and unfading” inheritance, our living hope, which is Jesus. I’m thankful for peace that can’t be taken away by long days or any other circumstance.
But I sure am thankful for naps, too.