Had a little ball, stuck it in a wall, that's all...

Last night, after all the children were tucked snug in their beds with visions of double-leg take downs, Jack's bowling party and adventures with Teddy Bears dancing in their heads, I crawled into my bed.  I pulled the covers over my head and unceremoniously passed out. 

As a child my father used to tell us stories before bedtime.  My personal favorite was, still is, the Three Little Pigs.  He would delve deep into the characters, complete with voices and sound effects.  Somewhere after fifth or sixth telling, as I begged him to tell it "one more time" he would offer this short story instead. 

Had a little ball, stuck it in a wall, that's all....

This was code for, "Now...I am done." 

The door would close, the lights would be off and I was to officially consider myself "tucked in." 

I would lay awake in the darkness and think about many things.  I would dream about Santa and wonder what presents he might bring.  I would dream of being a prairie girl and wonder what life was like for Laura Ingalls. But never once did I wonder what my parents were thinking on the other side of the door.

I guess that is the magic of being a child.

Now, as a parent, I understand in a way that I could NEVER comprehend before just how much energy it took to tell the story of the Three Little Pigs.  How six or seven representations of "I'll bbbbbllllllooooooowwwww your house in"  can give you quite the headache.  How after a long day at a thankless job you want someone to comfort you, not the other way around. 

What I failed to mention earlier in this post was that somewhere after snuggles were delivered and "dream abouts" were completed and slightly before I tucked myself into bed, I picked a fight with my husband.  I believe it was based on a valid point but the details are sketchy and I know I acted childishly. {insert apology **here**}

I remember listing reasons that I was a failure, unsent Christmas cards, unpurchased presents, unwritten blogs, ungraded papers, uncooked meals, unexercised flab....

I wonder how many times when I was young my parents dragged their weary bones into bed feeling like failures.  How many times after we were tucked in they would bicker and argue about petty things as they fought off the fatigue that makes cowards of us all.

I guess that is the magic of being a child....

I never knew.