One of the best aspects of parenting is snuggling. That cozy time where your body touching their bodies is simply enough. Where they don’t necessarily need to talk (though of course sometimes they do) but simply just need to be held.

As I write this my 11-year-old who has been coming to sleep at the end of my bed for weeks now do to who the heck knows why, but she’s not walking me up in the middle of the night, so eventually she will move past this, has just woken up. None of her sisters are awake yet and it’s before 8 AM so she’s decided to climb into bed next to me and snuggle.

I explained that I needed to write so she isn’t speaking, she may be reading over my shoulder, I am not sure, but there is a sense of coziness to her just hanging out next to me.

I am sure this would fall under the Danish concept of Hygge of doing things to just feel really cozy and connected. I suppose if we had candle burning or were near a fireplace and it was wicked weather outside that would make it even better. Instead it is the start of another sunny spring day.

But right now it is still quiet. The only sounds are of our breathing and my light tapping of the keyboard on my laptop as I write this. There are some distant traffic noises as we live not far from one of the major routes here in Maine.

Her eyes have drifted closed so I know that right now at this moment all is good in her world. Her needs are being met. And let’s face it as parents, that is something that should be celebrated and appreciated, that right now things are good.

No emergencies, no fighting, no hysterics, right now things are good.

When my babies were well babies one of the best parts of my day was when they would fall asleep on me. I would be content just holding them for hours (often times in a baby carrier especially after my firstborn) knowing that all was good in their world, that I had done everything they needed me to do.

When they were toddlers and so into exploring their worlds and at times it felt like a never-ending high alert suicide watch, I would hold out for when they would take a nap. Even if sometimes it was on me and they were all sweaty and hot and I was all sweaty and hot. It created such a good connection, such a good bonding experience to have them sleeping on me and knowing that once again everything was good. I could take a deep breath and just relax for a while.

When my daughters were little and where we lived was small my hubby would often reconnect with them when they slept on him. It was the favorite part of his day too. His love language is touch and I am not sure there is much in the world that makes him happier than having a slumbering small child on his chest. I really think that is one of his favorite parts of being a father.

But children grow. And we want them to because that means they won’t stay in this stage that is driving us crazy forever. And as they grow it can be so easy to lose that connection. To lose that time to be in touch with the other person. I don’t have sons so I don’t know if it is different than daughters, but there comes a point where you really have to wait for them to ask for hugs, rather than them giving them as often and with such free abandon as they did when they were little. They become almost sacred.

I used to do something we called the “lap thing” when I got too big to fit in my mother’s lap. There were just two of us, my brother being 3 ½ years younger than me and my mom would read us many a chapter book aloud as part of our homeschooling (though I am pretty sure she would have done it even if we had remained in school longer). Anyway it was often after lunch cozy time and we would put our heads on either side of her lap while she was reading. Often giggles and silliness would ensue.

But what I remember most other than getting the opportunity to stare at the ceiling for hours on a regular basis (which really does change your perspective of the world) was that we had that regular physical connection. We had that regular touch.

My girls often jostle over who gets to sit next to me on our too small couch when we watch television together. And some days honestly I am touched out and need to go sit someplace else. I do my best to help everyone have a turn and make sure that the ones whose turn it isn’t know that most likely at least one of them can curl up by their dad. There seems to be something so important about these snuggle times. Just like curling up to my hubby at night is often the highlight of my day.

She has fallen so far asleep that she is snoring. Which she needed. And I am sure my bed has got to feel better to her body than the floor. It feels really good to have this connection time with her. One that doesn’t require my brain to be on. One where my mere presence is simply enough.

I am enough

For her

Right now.

I am going to sit here and breathe that in for a while.

There is a new section in the Children’s section of the library. Have you found it yet? It’s small in some libraries and quite large in others. It seems to magically draw any child over the age of three, and certainly any child who has a grasp of what books are, what they are for and their ABCs.

It can be a dangerous section, depending on your library and whether they separate the middle school years from the high school years for these types of books. And while I am okay with kids reading beyond where they are ready, especially where books are concerned, the fact that these books are so heavily illustrated leaves a lot less to the imagination.

And I get that graphic novels, this new type of book that is really just a much longer length of what we grew up with – comic books is really helpful for certain type of emerging readers. It really can help bridge that gap between the visual of the drawings and the written word of what you are reading. And so much of the storytelling is still behind one just by the illustrations in panels rather than the words.

A great cross over. Providing your child has a good grasp on the level of reading that particular graphic novel requires.

But if they don’t. If the reading is beyond them, or they found a siblings copy and they can’t even read it yet themselves, well that can lead to you having to help them.

I don’t mind helping with occasional word, or even sitting there while they sound out the words and read it aloud to me.

But when I have to read a graphic novel out loud I just want to tear my hair out. Literally, can I do anything else for you right now, scrub a toilet?

Clean up vomit?

Walk the dog?

Anything?

Because it is so hard to read a graphic novel. There are so many made up words that are just sounds that for some reason have to be shown as letters and are way more complicated than just pfft. I can be hard to know if your child is ready to move on from that panel much less that page in a timely manner, because the illustrations can be so deep.

There are often not chapters or other obvious stopping points, so you could be stuck with reading the whole book from front to back in one sitting even though they are well over 100 pages.

If you are the type of parent that skims over the truly gross, cruel or violent portions of books when you are reading them aloud to your young children, that really can not be done in graphic novels. Your child is going to know that something bad or evil is going on just by the drawings not to mention the words. And by and large graphic novels take from their comic book roots and there is a lot more violence than your average middle school aged book.

And it’s not like they come with a rating system! They aren’t rated with reading difficulty or violence level or even liberal vs conservative view points. I home-school my kids so that stuff doesn’t bother me as much because my kids will talk to me about what we are reading, what they have been reading and we will discuss things (because even their Readers books have occasionally had things in it we have had to discuss).

And it is probably no worse than the same kind of TV show. I keep my kids on a pretty tight reins for what they can watch on TV and they are girls so they aren’t even interested in watching Power Rangers, or Clone Wars (though they are amazingly quite fond of Dino Trucks and Troll Hunters), so I am not sure what the current violence levels in those books are.

And I totally understand the draw of reading a graphic novel, especially when you are bridging from picture books into chapter books without pictures. But they are so hard to read aloud, to share with another person at the same time. You can totally read it, and then have someone else read it and discuss it, but the act of enjoying them simultaneously, well maybe I am just not wired to do that?

Oh and I should throw out there, that they are usually soft sided paperback books of weird shapes and sizes which can make finding them and keeping tabs on them when they have been borrowed from the library a bit of at trick at times. And believe me you would rather not have to buy a missing graphic novel from the library, because when you eventually find it again, it will now be your copy and that means you might get asked

To Read it Aloud

Again.

My kids are muddy monsters. I don’t know how many times I have to remind them to leave their muddy things, especially the things attached to their once cute feet, by the door, and not to just keep walking all through my house, up the stairs and then plop down on my bed. It’s disgusting, and gross and it feels like it is only the beginning of mud season and I have miles of floors to wash before I can rest and it’s just

Not

Fair

I really do feel like a four year old ready to through a big tantrum. It isn’t fair that I have to be the one to clean up all their messes. And this is not a complain about my husband part because he does pitch in and help, though his version of help is usually getting the kids to do it, but hey it’s nice to not always be the person reminding the kids to clean up after themselves.

But still it is like never ending. Never, never, never ending.

And I know they have busy little brains that are busy working on all the things they are working on and that figuring out how to do a cartwheel or ride their bike on the grass is taking all of their brain power, but I mean

Mud

Everywhere

Absolutely everywhere in my house.

I just want to cry

But that would just mix with the dried mud on the floor, that I just swept, I swear and make more sticky mud.

Is that peanut butter on the stairs?

How did peanut butter fall on the stairs?

Food is not allowed in the upstairs of my house, everyone knows this. This has been a long standing agreed upon by the two adults who live here, rule.

There is chunky peanut butter on two of my steps.

I think I am going to cry now. I am out of paper towels at the moment, because hello, I am trying to be environmentally conscious and use washable rags as much as possible.

I don’t want to pick up this peanut butter with my hands. None of my kids are claiming to be involved, and I seriously doubt the cat has had anything to do with it.

Of course my dad would point out that if I had a dog I would never have found the peanut butter on the floor because the dog would have eaten it first. Completely ignoring the fact that a dog would mean four more feet to track more mud, dirt, ticks and burrs into my house. Not to mention that dogs have gross bodily fluids like kids, and this cat at least seems happy to go potty outside when it’s warm enough. And she buries her dropping so it’s not like I have to clean up after her like a dog.

Seriously peanut butter on my stairs. And I am sure each of my children have walked past it (managing somehow not to step on it I am not sure how that possible) at least 20 times…. Granted the stairs are painted brown and peanut butter is tan, but these are girls I am raising they are suppose to be good at picking out nuances, I mean we are trained for the gathering portion of hunting and gathering, so really, it shouldn’t still be there!

It means a separate trip for me. Because I almost never go up or down the stairs without having my hands full. I usually have a tote bag on my shoulder with my knitting, phone, tablet and book (s) and a drinking vessel in the other hand at the bare minimum. Plus I broke an ankle less than a year ago, so really peanut butter on the stairs is a huge safety hazard.

Maybe they just think it looks like mud?

Maybe as the comedian Dennis Leary once shared, it’s like a PB & J sandwich that was flying around and needed a place to park. In the VHS player. Where you put a VHS tape.

Thank the Goddess I have never found anything parked in the DVD player.

I think that’s why we keep it sideways so it doesn’t look like a drawer of any kind.

But seriously PB on the stairs?