Last Thursday morning, when I opened my eyes, I was out of sorts. Discombobulated. It was dark in my bedroom.  It was dark through the window.  It must have been the middle of the night.

But it was not night.  It was 6:30 a.m..  My usual wake-up time.  And as I trudged slowly and sluggishly to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  For that split second in time, before any muscles on my face had been awakened enough to move, my skin was plump.  Smooth.  Line free.

But after my first facial motions, it all fell back into place. Nearly four decades of place. And as I leaned in closer to get a better look, I wondered where the woman who stared back at me a mere ten days earlier had disappeared to.

You see, over Christmas break, I discovered the fountain of youth.  Its power didn’t come as an expensive wrinkle cream wrapped as a Christmas gift.  It wasn’t a fancy spa treatment. It was simple. It was free. It came from home. It was sleep.

After two weeks of more than decadent sleeping in, the black circles under my eyes magically faded.  After two weeks of sleeping in, my skin was clear.  Shiny in a good way.  After two weeks of sleeping in, I was happier and relaxed. And therefore, didn’t make any of the wrinkles on my forehead pop.  As much.

It wasn’t just me basking in the sleep glow.  Big Guy and Little Guy reveled in it.  Every morning, after finally dragging myself out of bed at a time much later than I care to admit to, I’d peak on the sleeping Little Guy and Big Guy. I’d open their blinds. Keep their doors cracked opened. Just enough to let them hear the coffee maker perking.

Eventually they would wake up.  (Except for the one day I had to wake them at ten o’clock because they had someplace to be at eleven. I know - it’s hard not to be jealous.) And when they did, it was nice and slow. It was the kind of wake up where it took them a minute to adjust their eyes.

They’d struggle as their lids bounced up and down, eventually finding the strength to stay open on their own.  They’d glance at the sunlight pouring in the window.  Lie silently in thought.  Why not? There was no reason to jump out of bed.  And when the boys finally did emerge from their rooms, they were refreshed.  Energized. Pleasant.  

We quickly slid into a routine where breakfast was served at a time more likely slated for lunch.  The day kicked into high gear around mid-afternoon, with us eventually retiring probably a little later than we should have.  But that was OK, because we knew that the next morning, we could hide under those covers as long as we wanted.

During those two weeks, life was especially good. I switched to decaf. Gave Really Big Guy unsolicited foot massages.  I didn’t yell nearly as much.  And neither did Big Guy nor Little Guy.  

And in my euphoric, youthful looking state, I did something crazy. Something extreme. I cleaned out the vast stash of skin care products I treasure.  The ones promising to depuff. Unwrinkle.  Make me smooth and make me glow.  The antioxidants.  The serums.  The glycolics and the scrubs.  All but two basics tossed aside.  

My sleeping days had taught me that none of those creams, lotions and potions under my sink would ever wash away the unforgiving effects of our normal, everyday routine.  The power was in the sleep.  When we feel good, we look better. We act better.  No matter how old we are.

As our weeks of sleeping bliss came to a close, I braced myself and the kids for our inevitable return to reality.  Which, even with its hurried pace, occasional meltdowns, and black circles, really isn’t so bad.

I just wish it could start around 10:30 a.m.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.