Sleeping In

Our son Devin is anticipating the arrival of a much-awaited, new Lionel train to arrive on our doorstep any day. It’s his fixation of this moment—he is telling stories about it, dreaming about it, talking about it non-stop. He’s come up with a town, a village, complete with creeks, wild animals, a whole scene in his imagination he wants in place, waiting for the train when it arrives. He has been confiding this all to his Daddy, confident that somehow, he can help him create such an incredible world.

Before Devin goes to bed at night, he shares his plans with me with a solemn face. It’s intense, detailed and—to me, sounds a wholeheartedly enormous undertaking. I think of the train layouts I’ve seen in basements of others, or at the train shows we’ve attended together. I think of my own childhood home growing up, my brother at almost our son’s age with a realistic plywood platform for his own trains, sprinkled with some green substance of sorts as grass, miniature trees and benches glued on for effect. I describe some of these to my son supporting his dream, then privately in my own mind, with exhaution think of the equipment needed, the cardboard to collect, the plywood to purchase to help him make this come true.

I secretly worry about the time and labor involved, hoping we can really help him make it happen, wondering if he will be disappointed in the end. As I ruminate, he prattles on and on with his plan—a bridge here, cheetahs and alligators there—the vision is intense and I know every detail will be remembered the next morning.

When the sun rises, I stretch—it is a very late 8:00 a.m. I realize my husband has given me an incredible gift on this Saturday—sleeping in. I hear the children up and about, filled with energy. Devin’s voice is filled with laughter, there is jumping and little footsteps of his baby sister Kaya running alongside—she’s saying something about books, Da-Da, and a request for Mommy.

I arise and am greeted with these words, “We did it! We did it! All in one day!” There, on the floor of the living room, next to the sacred spot where the Lionel train will soon be set up is a series of seven pieces of construction paper, carefully scotch-taped together, all in a row. Each piece includes a detailed picture, drawn with Crayola markers, the lines filled with passion, clearly telling a story, and by the smile on Devin’s face, clearly fulfilling all he had bubbled up inside. Here is his complete vision, influenced in no way by what any adult (ahem…yours truly) had in mind as to what it “ought” to be. And he was radiating with the satisfaction and happiness that comes from seeing a dream come true.

I was reminded how when we provide the space and freedom for each individual to express what they have within (including ourselves)—in their own way, we are humbled at how simple, complete and perfect it is, just as it is, with no necessary help or additions from the outside. Often the best thing we can do to help dreams happen is to somehow allow space, respect and freedom so the brilliance that is inside each of us can safely and quietly emerge in its own way. Sometimes it's good to take a break, check out or simply sleep in.