As of Wednesday last, I have taken on the cloak of the nap fairy. I have wings and a feather wand, and I dance around in dewy, sunshiney meadows when I’m not tending to my little ones—passing my wand over their furrowed brows and wiggley bodies, working my magic to make eyelids droop and tiny mouths drop open, wet with sleepy drool.
It really seems pleasant, no? Well, it’s not. Not my cup of tea. I have enough patience to fill a thimble, and after three minutes of *rubbing backs* (a.k.a. magicking), I’m ready for my lunch that’s waiting in the fridge and my hour and forty-five minutes of loud music (NOT lullabies).
But reminisce. You were once four years old. Once, other people were grown-ups, and you were a kid. Think about your elementary school playground. There are probably other kids playing on the same toys you used, swinging a jump rope in the same spot, making up childish games that you once played, believing themselves to be the first. What can I say, it’s the Circle of Life.
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