My third column from www.mentorpatch.com - this one made me cry. Seriously - I'm such a sap.
"Just one more, Mommy?" Josie asked as we sat in the rocking chair in her room.
"Please?" We had already read two stories, and it was time for bed.
I love those just-bathed, damp-haired, sweet-smelling, teeth-brushed, pajama-wearing moments when my girls climb onto my lap and snuggle in for a good story.
It takes me back to when I was a little girl and my daddy used to read to me every night. Since he worked long hours, bedtime was our special time together. More than the stories themselves, I remember the safe, happy feeling of being held on his lap in our old, bright orange ‘70s-era rocking chair.
I hope my girls will remember the feeling, too.
Sometimes they know the stories better than I do. They can quote Goodnight Moon or The Foot Book word for word. Sometimes I share one of my childhood favorites like Scuffy the Tugboat or Sylvester and the Magic Pebble. (I still have practically every book I’ve ever owned – I can't bear to part with them. They are like old friends).
Sometimes they try to convince me to read Love You Forever, a story about a mommy who sneaks in and watches her child sleeping at night as he grows up before her eyes. This book brings me to tears by the third page every time I read it. For some reason, my girls think it’s funny to see Mommy sniffling into a tissue and bawling like a baby.
Sometimes they get to choose from The Library Bag, which we usually restock every week or two. They dig through the bag like they're hunting for treasure.
They always find it.
We laugh together at Papa Bear's misadventures. We cry together when Laura Ingalls' old bulldog, Jack, dies. We sleepily whisper sing-song lullaby stories to each other. I realize that we are sharing more than just a book.
Now I know why my daddy took that special time to read with me. Soon my girls will be able to read their own stories. Soon they will be too big to sit on my lap. Soon they will be busy with things deemed more important than tonight's all-important bedtime story.
I look at Josie's rosy cheeks, the hopeful look in her eyes. I say, "OK, just one more."
Or maybe two.
