Peace and quiet is a commodity 'round here.
It's such a rare occasion that when both girls are napping at the same time, I feel like I need to buy a lotto ticket [and I don't even play the lottery].
Note: I said a book... as in a single book.
Often times, though, that book turns into 230947 more books.
And right before we empty out the entire bookshelf, my daughter's eyes start getting heavy.
"Yes. She'll go to sleep right away," I think to myself, feeling like I won some sort of a game.
I lay her down gently in her crib then tiptoe out of her room, so as not to wake her or her nearby sleeping sister.
I tiptoe down the creaky wooden staircase into our living room...
My world is silent.
But my mind isn't.
Aside from the celebratory "Alleluia's" being sung in my head for [somehow] managing to get both girls asleep at the same time, my brain won't shut off.
I have piles of things to do - an impending deadline for Adoption.com, food to prep for dinner, bottles to wash, laundry to fold, a dishwasher to empty and reload, a dog to take out, mail to go through, a grocery list to organize...the list goes on.
But the other day as I was sitting in the quiet, I found myself doing something unusual.
I tiptoed back back up our creaky wooden staircase where our 20-month old was fast asleep.
And I picked her up.
I held her -- her head nestled underneath my neck and arms draped over my shoulders.
For an hour, I just held her.
I didn't think about the to-do list that never gets done.
I didn't care about the books and sippy cups thrown all over the house and Cheerios shoved between the couch cushions.
I didn't care about the load of laundry waiting to get tumbled in the dryer or the dishes in the sink in dire need of cleaning.
I just cared about her.
You see, the quiet and calm may come and go in our house -- it always does.
The to-do list never gets done -- it's always there.
But our babies?
They're only little once.
And we should never be too busy to snuggle the ones we love.