Relax

As I type this, I'm listening to an 8-minute composition by Marconi Union that I saw mentioned in Time a couple of weeks ago. Called 'Weightless,' it's garnered a reputation for being incredibly relaxing - indeed, it was apparently written in conjunction with a panel of 'sound therapists,' and was found to be, in a study commissioned by a bubble bath company, more relaxing than a cup of tea or a massage.

In other words, it's dangerous territory for this dad, who was up at 5:50, who swam against the current of the Towson Christmas traffic today, and who just read his daughter a pair of nighttime books, including one that ended with Olivia, a pig, being tucked in. If 'Weightless' is soporific, it's merely overkill, at this point: I was yawning deeply with Olivia. Adding a tune forged by sound therapists, at this point, is like downing a valium after reading for four hours, in front of a fire.

My larger point, though? It's simply this. In a country that offers vast ranges of products that can keep you awake - from Red Bull to No-Doz - and that can put you to sleep - Nyquil, anyone? - it may still hold true that in fact the most reliable stimulants and relaxants are packaged in the same convenient container that they've occupied for years. Yeah, I'm thinking of your common toddler. At least, when I hear Cleo's labored breathing and surprisingly heavy footsteps coming down the hall, something in me leaps awake: on an almost animal plane, I become alert. At least, I'm temporarily alert. But by the same token, later in the day, when Cleo manufactures pretend cupcakes in her pretend oven, and spends time delicately arranging the baking tray while giving a murmuring commentary, I tend to think that nothing could be more relaxing, more satisfying.

Not even, I think, if you consulted an entire army of sound therapists.