The Magical Hour
That time between when you put your kid down for bed and when you go to sleep is magical. And I’m not even kidding.
I remember on my trip to the PNW last year I was talking to a fellow mom about self-care and “me time.” She told me that her kids have strict bedtime. And I both understand and respect it.
Before I close the door to my son’s bedroom, I am exhausted. The day was probably a lot. I’m drained. Tired. And two seconds from collapsing into my own bed and being out for the night.
But there’s a Fiona from Shrek type transformation that occurs when that door shuts. Somehow I regain the energy of twenty-one year old Lanee. I can stay up and party all night. And by party I mean watch something on TV with my husband, doom scroll way later than I should, or write a blog post not unlike this one.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my son dearly. But that silence that replaces the “Mom!,” what ifs?, incessant questions, and “Look!” is top tier parenting peace. And it gives me the time to miss him and time to recharge so I can be the best parent to my imaginative, talkative little angel.
That magical hour deserves protection—seriously. All day something or someone needs my time or attention, and it’s hard to steal a moment for myself. All day I’m an employee, a friend, a parent. But in the magical one, two, or three hours between my kid’s bedtime and mine, I get to just be me. It’s when I can exhale, veg out, do nothing.
That’s my time, and I decide whether I want to fill it or not. And that’s what makes it so magical.