I was up a lot during the night last night. I don’t think I got very much sleep, and for me, that translates into an increase in anxiety. I have been told by my psychiatrist that sleep is healing for the brain, and I notice that it has a profound impact on my mental state.

My husband did the 6:45 wake up with the kids and then he napped with the baby in the late morning. When they came down, I asked him if I could have an hour to rest.

“Take more than an hour,” he offered, generously. “Take all the time you need.”

So I decided that while I would not take advantage of his kindness, I would take a nice, long shower, wash my hair (this is actually a big deal. Hi, twinny!), get into bed and doze off, likely to the sounds of Slate’s Serial Podcast (I know. “They’ll tell you I’m insane.”

I grabbed my most plush bathrobe, salon shampoo and

and…

and

then this is how it really went down.

I was barely out of the shower when I heard small footsteps and the words “Mama! Mama!” being chanted on repeat. It was my son, who broke into the bathroom. He held out his arms to me, and instead of picking him up, I just hugged him. We stayed for awhile in that embrace, I was on my knees and he smelled like pretzels. When we separated I also saw that he had a handful of my Vanilla Cream Valentine’s Day Peeps. I felt blessed and warm inside, despite being dripping wet.

Not a minute later my daughter was up, joining us in my bedroom as I tried to transfer from towel to bathrobe while constructing a turban on top of my head. “Oh, hi, mom.” She had a handful of Swedish Fish.

I told them both how much I love them. I moisturized and brushed my hair and then I walked downstairs…

to find my husband, perched on the couch, playing a videogame.

“Are you missing anything?” I asked.

And that, my friends, is what an hour of relaxation time is like for a mom. Gotta jet, I still have 21 minutes.

And that’s if Battlefield 4 doesn’t get in the way.