When I was little (up until I was about eight years old), my bedtime was 8:00pm. At 7:00, I had “Quiet Time,” which involved turning off the lights and watching the beginning of the evening’s prime-time television programming in the living room with the rest of the family. No playing or running around, and I believe I had to be in my nightgown by this point.
Even at eight years old, I thought 8:00 was a god-awful time to have to go to bed—especially when it was still light outside, and other kids were still playing. But rules were rules, especially when it was a schoolnight. I remember Mom told me once that maybe those kids’ mommies didn’t love them as much as she loved me, or something like that. But, anyway, having Quiet Time really helped settle me down for bed, even if I did try to read under the covers afterward.
Fast forward to twenty years later.
After this weekend of drumcorps shenanigans, I was (and still am) aching in places I’d forgotten about. My shoulders, back muscles, thighs, biceps and triceps all ache—and all we did was stand there and play our horns! (And get high on breathing exercises. Easy, legal and free. Oh, yeah…)
As I contemplated my aching muscles at work today, it occured to me that I hadn’t christened the actual bathtub in our new house since we’d moved in. Showers, sure, but no baths yet.
So, this evening, around 9:30pm, I put some 24 Gone in the CD player, went upstairs and drew myself a bath. (After giving the tub a good scrub, that is.) And, oh, how good it felt. I’d forgotten that I like baths. Oh, yeah.
Now here I sit, in my bathrobe, listening to the 24 Gone CD play itself out, blogging, wrapping up the day’s to-do list. So relaxed. So much less sore than I was.
I think I should make this into my new Quiet Time.
