There’s really nothing better than a good nap.

I’m an excellent napper.  My children were excellent nappers.  In JK, Elliot would go down for a nap after lunch and often not wake up until his sitter came to pick him up at the end of the day.  Meanwhile, a room full of screaming four-year-olds was whirling around him.  Any time we were in the car, even for a short stint, he’d fall asleep.  At 18, he often still does.  When Connor was a baby, we lived in an apartment on Little Lake, home of summer concerts and fireworks.  He slept through all of it.

Prior to my transfer back to Peterborough, I had a bizarrely large office, for some reason.  It looked empty when we moved there.  So, I dragged a futon in.  At lunchtime, often being more tired than hungry, I’d turn out the lights, put in some earplugs, and have a snooze.  I’d awake to my favourite colleague shaking me gently, saying “Lynne…time to get up…we’re havin’ juice and cookies.  We’re gonna colour later…”   I say “my favourite colleague”, because there were several who just weren’t my favourites at all, and napping provided a sweet escape from a poisonous atmosphere.  NO ONE can follow you into a nap.  I’d awake refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready for Round 2.  And often if I’ve been wrestling with a problem, the answer will come to me after a little nap.

And what’s better than a Saturday afternoon snooze on the couch, with a half-finished book open on your chest, and a little CBC radio in the background?  Nuthin’.  That’s as good as it gets.

Excellent naps can also be had with little people.  Snuggling on the couch with toddlers is good times indeed. 

For all that I’m an excellent napper, I am and always have been a very poor sleeper.  I haven’t slept through the night in many years.  I get up to pee, I turn over, I find the cool side of the pillow.  I get another blanket, I put on socks.  I’m too hot.  I’m too cold.  I write things down, I read, I check my e-mail.  I toss and turn, my brain won’t shut off, and usually when I do get up, my bed looks like a couple of Mexican wrestlers spent the night getting it on.  I’m good in bed, yeah, but not THAT way…

When I posted on facebook that I was going to blog about napping, a friend commented that she can always spot “napface”, that look that someone has when they just get up.  People who wear glasses are doubly adorable when they wake up, because they’re even more bleary than most, until they refocus and get back to reality. It’s a good look, napface. It’s contented, a little bleary, relaxed. It’s sweet and vulnerable.  We’re very vulnerable when we’re asleep and coming across a napper in the act gives me a feeling of peace and trustfulness.

Napping is a sweet and blessed release from existence.  It restores us physically, and brings us back to the centre. 

“We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”

I bet T.S. Elliot was a napper.


One response »

  1. Saturday afternoons with the Live at the Met on CBC Radio Two and my cat Merlin curled up with me napping on the couch were my fave times.

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