Lullabies have made a surprise come back in our bedtime routine over the past week or so.
Baby-bye, see the fly? He is watching you and I.
There he crawls, up the wall, yet he never falls.
Old songs. Songs that, really, are strange when you think about the words, are requested in place of, or to go along with, Knuffle Bunny, Pinkalicious and Wildwood.Not every night, but more often than not. I can't remember when they were last requested, it's been a while. But, as with lullabies, they dust off pretty well.
I can show you, if you choose, where to look, to find his shoes.
Three small pairs, made of hairs, these he always wears.
We have reached that "last few weeks of term" part of the semester, which means that Will's hours grow later and later, and our evenings become disjointed, dinner at different times, bedtime shortened, lengthened, rearranged. So that tenuous rhythm that we've tried to build lately has been interrupted and we are all counting down the days till winter break, when we can slow down our pace and just be. Well, Will and I are counting the days till then, the kids are counting the days till Christmas, but that's another post.
I like rhythm. I like a slow, calm rhythm where nothing moves too fast and there is time for baking and reading and knitting and board games on a Tuesday afternoon. It's harder to find that here. Even with the door shut and the curtains drawn, the faster pace creeps in. I was listening to someone complain about how frustrating it can be dealing with the West Coast, because, in general, they just don't seem in a hurry. And while I totally understood her point of view, I also wondered what those West Coasters thought of the situation "East Coasters, always in a rush." I think I could live here a lifetime and never really settle into that East Coast rush.
That small speck, is his neck,
see him nod and beck.
Last night, just as I was putting my book away, bleary eyed, ready to sleep, Evelyn crept into the room. "I had a bad dream. Can you sing me a lullaby" She crawled in with me and I sang, and then we slept, a tangle of arms and hair and dog snuggled in the crooks of our knees. And it was nice to have that quiet, slow, warm moment before drifting off. I think, maybe, you're never too old for a lullaby. I know I'm not.