Updated: Sep. 9, 2020
Originally Published: Sep. 5, 2015
If you were to ask those who know me well to describe my personality, you’d likely hear a lot of words that mean “efficient.” I like to think some might add “clever” or “witty,” perhaps even “thoughtful” or “insightful.” However, “sentimental” wouldn’t be on that list. Yet, I must admit, I can get a bit teary-eyed, especially when it comes to my kids.
It’s not always the typical heartwarming moments that make me emotional—the loss of a front tooth or the first time a little one decides not to hug me goodbye at school. Those moments tug at my heartstrings, but I expect that. It’s the little, unexpected moments that hit me out of nowhere.
Just the other day, while I was dusting the bookshelf in my children’s shared room, it suddenly struck me how much history those shelves hold. Over the years, I’ve gradually cleared out the baby books and toys, but what remains are the cherished stories we’ve read countless times. Those well-loved books with tattered pages and broken spines are a testament to our bedtime traditions.
As I stood there, I felt a pang of nostalgia, realizing we haven’t read many of them in quite some time. Each book on that shelf is a capsule of memories—snuggles, sleepy eyes, and the sound of my voice reading familiar lines. How can I possibly choose which ones to keep and which to pass on for others to enjoy?
“Goodnight room, goodnight moon.” I can still hear my children’s laughter as we counted the little bears in their chairs. How many times did I sit with a little one nestled in my lap, reading those lines together? The excitement of “two little kittens and a pair of mittens” made them cuddle closer, and the adventures of trains and trucks whisked them off to dreamland.
There were cozy evenings on the couch, wrapped in blankets, where we explored the bravery of a tiny snail on a whale’s back or shouted “no, no, NO!” at the end of “Monkey Puzzle.” We took wild rides with Ms. Frizzle and marveled at the stars with Thomas and Percy.
As I traced my fingers along the spines of those beloved books, I saw how their tastes began to shift. My older son gravitated towards stories about tornadoes and flags, while his younger brother adored the Bearenstain Bears and Magic Tree House. To my disappointment, neither of them embraced Dr. Seuss. “Try them and you may!” I’d say, but they just didn’t connect with those rhymes. Still, we all laughed at the adventures of the cheeky pigeon and enjoyed the antics of Leonardo and Sam.
“Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.” Each book brings me a wave of longing for those little bodies, those soft hands, and the sweetness of their dreams. Sometimes, I can’t help but mourn the end of those nights filled with sleepy eyelids drifting down slowly, while I whispered, “I love you all the way to the moon. And back.”
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Summary:
This heartwarming piece reflects on the bittersweet journey of reading bedtime stories with children. The author reminisces about the cherished moments spent with her kids, the laughter, and the love shared through their favorite books. As they grow, those memories become a beautiful treasure, reminding us of the fleeting nature of childhood.