You’re a song; a wished for song-Rumi 

“Sing me to sleep,” she asked, even though it seemed like such an indulgent thing to ask for.  It had been over 30 years since anyone had sung to her from the foot of her bed with the sole intention of easing her into dreamland.  But lately it seemed that she needed to be indulged.  She needed it badly.  And without thinking, she just suddenly without thinking threw those outrageous wishes to the universe, seeing who would bite.   “I am going to nap,” she said this time a little bit firmer.  “Come upstairs and play, come sing me to sleep.” 

“Ok,” they said.  It was that simple. 

And that is how she found herself tucked into bed, drifting off to sleep, listening to the sounds of two electric guitars turned way down low, hushed to lullabye volume, the voices in three part harmony perched on the bottom of her bed.   For an hour they sang, maybe more.  With eyes closed, she dove in and out of their voices as sleep overcame her. 

“Is our baby girl asleep?” she heard him ask the others from the edge of her bliss. “She is…Shhh…Lets take these downstairs and load up the gear.  We will wake her later.”

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Is there anything more luscious than being sung to sleep?  It is just this sweetness that my baby girl heart had been craving.  But asking for it seemed so out of reach–so nutty. Who sings a 39 year old single mother to sleep?  And who am I, after all these years, to ask for such sweetness? Why is it so hard to ask for the preciousness of each other?  For the sound of your voice as I drift into sleep, for the warmth of your hug as you leave for the night?  These things are our comfort–they nourish and revive–they can be bread or water.  As children we ask without fear or shame but then, we grow old and someone tells us that we cannot dare take too much:  too much time, too much space, too much air.  We train ourselves to live on a diet of pleasantries, and to survive on just enough affection.  We worry about how we will be seen.  We don’t want to be too big.  And we fool ourselves into believing that the tiny sweetnesses that we crave are things we must deprive ourselves of to be worthy of this world. Why do we spend years training ourselves that we do not deserve that which we know as children is ours for the taking–pure love.   Max just pushed aside my computer and climbed into my lap.  “Mama, I need you to hug me.  My leg hurts.”  “OK” I say.  Its just that simple.  In fact, I suspect it probably usually is.What sweetness do you wish for, what indulgent lovely caress does your baby girl self require?  Can you let yourself ask the crazy question, believing full well the answer will be, “OK”. Can you let someone sing you to sleep?   It is a lovely way to wake up.  

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