Daydreaming

When I was little, like most children, I had a bedtime. I had to abide by this set time, regardless of my level of tiredness - sometimes I was sad about it, but most of the time I looked forward to lying in bed, and letting my imagination take over. I often think longingly back to those days, where I would look up at the picture hanging above my bed, and make the characters come to life. The picture was of all the woodland animals making their way to school - which was held beside a tree, of course. I would give them names, backgrounds, conversations and friendships. Many winter nights I would lie under my flannel sheets in my flannel nightgown and create "lightning" by flapping my sheets up and down. But mostly I would just daydream, even though it wasn't really day.

I never daydreamed in class. The great Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes was always going on some crazy mind adventure during classtime. Not me. I was too afraid of getting into trouble, like the way it always ended with Calvin. I was definitely more like Suzie. Perfect example: the first time I ever got my name written on the board was in seventh grade. The troublemaker in the class kept poking and pestering me, until I finally turned around and violently exclaimed, "Leave me ALONE, Mark!" Instantly our names went on the board, and I was devastated. It was everything I could do to not cry. So, no daydreaming for me. Plus, I might have missed something really important that might have been on a test, or just plain interesting (yep, I was That kid).

As I got older, the nights grew later and I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. I am still an insta-sleeper, and that's okay by me. I'm not exactly sleeping in anymore these days. And I've never taken the time to just Space Out. I'm always occupying my time. Even if it's actually enriching my mind, it still isn't Just my mind chewing on whatever's floating around in there.

I have been pleasantly surprised, however, by the re-entry of daydreaming in my life. As I've mentioned before, I have a baby who doesn't like to nap apart from me (the more time goes by and I try to figure out her personality, I think she just doesn't want to miss anything, and if I'm with her she feels like nothing must be going on so it's safe to sleep. I think. But of course I don't know. I've only been a mom for seven months, and Ella can't talk. But I'm pretty sure that's it.). So we spend a lot of time in the rocking chair, as I've talked about before. I've come to really love time in the rocking chair. Ella squirms for a while, but then she always makes her way to the crook of my neck. Once she's there, I know she's sleeping - or pretty darn close. And my body instantly relaxes.

It takes a few minutes for my mind to follow suit. I first have to scroll through all the logistics of the day, get things sorted out and put in their places. And then the Wandering begins. I don't even know really what I think about, but isn't that the point? Pretty soon it's been half-an-hour, and we're still rocking. Ella's happily sleeping, I'm happily wandering, and my knees beginning to protest. But still we rock. And sleep. And wander.