Mommy, the Log

I could morph myself into a 300-pound do-nothing-but-lay-still log, and Ella would still think I’m fun to play with.  This happened this past Sunday morning (no, I didn’t literally turn into a log, but I was about as close as one might come).  Dan had gotten up with the kids and, well, I just hadn’t yet.  It felt too good to be in bed, in the warmth, in the quiet, alone… alone… alone… ahhh… I still remember it.  And I was just… too… tired… to get up anyway.  I mean, I was exhausted.

So as soon as Dan was out of bed and down the stairs with the kids, I was asleep again in our bed, ALONE, hearing only the faint sounds of familiar Leatherman morning activities.  I don’t know if Dan had managed the kids to sane levels of noise and play or if I was THAT tired that I was actually back asleep the moment Dan and the kids exited our room at wake-up time.

And then I heard the footsteps.  Oh, no.  Whatever it was that had been keeping Ella occupied and content was over, and she was coming looking for me.  I was not ready to play, so I figured I’d just lay still, keep my eyes closed and be incredibly boring, completely unengaged from playtime.  Surely she'd leave me for something better, like "helping" Daddy with his puzzle, battling Cal for the Pooh plane or hugging Zoe so much she'd get scratched (lightly, of course).

She didn't.  My laying still, being incredibly boring and completely unengaged from playtime didn’t matter to Ella.  I don’t even think she asked me what I was doing or if I could get up.  She just started playing with me.

“Mommy, you need some lotion,” she told me from the floor on my side of my bed.  “I go get it.”  And then I heard her feet shuffle out of my room and eventually back.  I still had my eyes closed, but I figured she had her collection of plastic beauty items (compact, lipstick, brush, etc) with her.

“Here’s some lotion, Mommy,” and I felt her fingers sloppily but gently apply fake lotion (from her compact) to my cheek, talking about anything and everything and nothing, really, as she did.  “There you go,” she was finished.

“Mommy, do you need some chapstick, Mommy?” Ella asked next.  “Mommy, you need chapstick?” she repeated when I didn’t reply.  “You need chapstick, Mommy?” again.  I may have mustered an unintelligible grunt, and she just decided I did need chapstick and started applying her fake lipstick to my lips… or, rather, near my lips.

Meanwhile, Cal came bounding up the stairs, through our doorway and up onto the bed where I lay.  “Mommy, wake up! Come downstairs!” he exclaimed.  At least he acknowledged that I was still sort of sleeping.

“Mommy just wanted some quiet, alone time,” I replied.  And he left.

Ella, having heard my response to Cal stuck around, unaffected by it.  "Mommy, I brush your hair," she told me.  I quickly and vividly imagined a brush getting tangled in my hair and having to be cut out and decided to "un-log" and become Mommy again... cranky Mommy, but certainly "better" than a log, not that that mattered much to Ella.