We would always start on the bed, propped on pillows in one of their rooms. Each kid got to pick a book or two, depending on how late it was. My favorites were anything with bold, busy, beautiful illustrations. It gave the kids lots to look at, which meant lots for us to talk about.
I absolutely loved when they placed their tiny heads, damp from their bath, on my shoulders while we read. One on my left, one on my right. My reward after a long day of keeping them alive and happy.
There is something fascinating about knowing that you are your child’s comfort zone; their sanctuary. It never feels like a burden, but a privilege.
When it was time to tuck them in for the night I would kneel on the floor beside them and stroke their hair. I had read once that your child doesn’t care how bad you sing, they only hear music, so I never worried about how I sounded when I sang to them. They each got three songs, sung in a montage. Just enough to relax them.
Before I delivered goodnight kisses I’d ask if they had had a good day. Sometimes they’d yawn and nod, and snuggle under their covers. But most days their thoughts poured out of them, and I got to hear the things I may never have heard; by morning they’d be stored away in some secret place.