Nap House

ES and SO arrived Monday night. Words by which to process the visit are proving hard to come by. My stuffy account is straightening his tie and smoothing wrinkles from his CPA costume to resume his, "Do first. Define later." chant. I have been working what I call, "My spider sense." I don't know what, exactly, is shaking my gossamer web. Just sensing for which thread(s) are being rattled.

The set of flashbacks which are most agitating me are of the endless days in a house full of sleeping middle aged adults. I haven't been keeping score, but I am quite certain my visitors have been sleeping more than they have been awake. The change in the house ambience feels dramatic to me. Both of my middle aged sons and their women are major league nappers. In the Urban Homestead, it was a rare ocassion to have all adults awake and engaged. There was always at least one fashionably grumpy adult wake-up and/or sleep defense in progress. To my senses, adult wake ups are far, far different than child wake-ups.

Dunno. . . Sorting. . .

This is around the hour that I would normally be doing my guit-chi. I fear disturbing the visitors and do not feel safe asking. Stepping small, praying big and holding the love sacred.