I don’t believe in napping, at least I used to not believe in napping. When I was a kid my mom used to send me and my sisters to our rooms to take naps. My sisters would all fall asleep just as they had been ordered to do. Me? Well, my mom gave up on me and naps at some point, and that point had to have been pretty early because I remember not napping well before I ever hit kindergarten.
My sisters called that time of the day nap time, but I called it quiet time. I used to sit in my room and play with my toys. I would set up a town using toys in my room and then I’d pretend to drive my Matchbox cars through that town. Eventually I’d head to my window and watch my friends ride their bikes up and down the street—their moms didn’t make them have a few hours of quiet time each day.
On our first weekend at home together after Casey and I got married, Casey headed upstairs to take a nap. She asked if I was coming and I gave her a quizzical look. Why would I take a nap, I’m an adult?
Here’s the thing, ever since I was a little kid I viewed naps as something that would cause me to miss out on life. Why nap the afternoon away if I could spend the afternoon in my bedroom lost in my imagination, or if I could spend the afternoon outside shooting baskets in the driveway?
After 12 years of marriage, Casey has now converted me into a nap taker. I take naps whenever I get a chance, but I still have this pang of guilt that I have to fight each time it comes to laying down for a nap.
There’s one day that Casey hasn’t been able to tarnish with her nap taking ways. That day is Christmas Day. I absolutely refuse to nap on Christmas. t only comes once per year and I spend two solid months beforehand just eagerly anticipating how I will spend that day and just how special it is to me and my family.
I’m certainly not going to voluntarily lose two to three hours of that day while napping.
By the way, Merry Christmas!
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