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 Writer. Doodler. Tea Drinker. Wife. Auntie.
More About Love, Auntie

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Adulting: Naping Traitor...

When I was little, every Sunday afternoon it happened: my parents took a nap.

I dreaded it. To begin with, I seriously disliked naps. To my young “I have free time” weekend mindset, they were such a time waster, and when I did take one, I typically woke up feeling groggy. On Sundays, my parents never forced me to snooze along with them, so my other option was to play quietly. And I tried. I really did. Yet I typically managed to produce noise: somehow, someway, I would cause jolting sound that would wake one of my parents up and subsequently find myself in trouble.

Once the atmosphere transformed into prime slumber mode, it was if my parents could suddenly hear my bones moving. Once the fan came on (a nice white noise), it was as if their whole bodies became auditory. Walking around was even risky. And as I grew older and the parental napping continued, I would delude myself into thinking I could perform daring feats –Like fix myself a snack of cheese and crackers – without making so much as a peep. How naive was I to think I could silently open a package of saltines?? (Is that even possible?) How did I believe I could noiselessly get into the fridge with a GIANT suction seal to retrieve cheese?? Fueled by determination, I would try.

My sister seemed immune to my problem. One time she dropped an entire milk shake down the flight of creaky hardwood stairs and cleaned it up without my Mom waking. I still recall her proudly sharing what happened in hushed tones, and we had to muffle our laughter. What a pro.

However, now that I’m older, I feel like a traitor to myself, albeit a happy traitor because:

I. love. naps.

And it’s not just that I’m “okay” with them. I find them to be one of the great little luxuries in life. I revel in a good curl up: wrapping that cozy blanket around me like a hug, giving in to that tired feeling, closing my eyes, and drifting to sleep. Oh yes. I’m quite smitten.

Even with years of napping under my belt, I am still amazed today that my tastes morph and continue to morph so dramatically. And that is what I find fascinating about aging – how eagerly I embrace or give up activities that I loved or hated when I was younger. I even my find myself excited to observe how my tastes transform as I continue to age; it adds variety to life, and since it’s a welcome change, it’s like being thrown a curve-ball (by yourself and at yourself) without all the drama.

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