The Pages of My Heart

One part of Alex's daily life revolves around reading and story telling.  The routing started out as a means of settling her down at night, and now has grown to be a part of our relationship, our interaction.  I read.  Ben tells the elaborate stories.  I try to cap it at a few books, but I've been known to read more than 4 if she gives me the look.  And after I finish, Ben and I change positions and he starts the story telling.  And from a distance, I can hear her talking to Ben in her petite voice, "Let's talk about..." or "Daddy, tell me about…" It's awesome to watch them thrive together.


As busy as life can be, I believe that we always should make time to sit together.  Every. Night.  And confirming my belief, I recently saw a story on National news, talking about a father who read to his daughter every night until she left for college. It started it out of his concern that they were growing apart; I believe she was the ripe old age of 6.  Their nightly interaction became an essential part of their lives and honed their relationship - so much that the daughter as a teen chose to continue reading, rearranging her social schedule at times.  As you can imagine, they progressed from chapter books all the way through the Harry Potter series to an amazing selection of classics. You could just see the love as they talked about how their "schtick" flourished with time.  Seriously touching.


The other night on vacation, it was late - beyond 10pm - and Alex insisted that we read.  So we made it through 2 books and I told her that we were all going to sleep.  5 minutes later, she rolls over towards me, sporting a hurtful pout and crying.  Not just a tear.  Oh no, a river of tears followed by uncontrollable sobbing.  And I saw a part of me reflected in her the first time - the silent cryer, the sensitive one - and I knew her reaction was no joke.  I finally coerced her to admit how I upset her, seeing that all I knew was that I hurt her feelings.  "You wouldn't read to me." And the tears flowed again. You would have thought that I verbally attacked her from her level of emotion.  And it all centered around a book and our need to be together. Sleep could wait.


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Last week (before the current heat wave), Alex and I set out a quilt on the deck, dragged out a throw and a mountain of books, and invited a few of her stuffed "friends" to join us.  The sun was setting and it illuminated the pages with golden light.  After our first book, Alex broke away from our quilt to pick flowers.  If you know her, flower picking is her her daily obsession that mortifies her father and makes her mother glow.  She's my girl. 

Then she kicked off her frog boots, deciding that a boot would be the perfect vase to hold her flowers.

I cannot lie - she did a nice job.  

She was visibly tickled, admiring her work and repeatedly pointed out to me how boo-ooo-dul her flowers are.  Then she sat down and resumed reading. Boo-ooo-dul.  Simply boo-ooo-dul. Gosh, I'll miss that mispronunciation.

Ok, I might be rambling with this post, but I haven't taught Alex to arrange flowers; and instinctually she knows what to do.  I haven't taught her to read, but somehow she knows the importance of that time too.  And it's moments like these when I feel my Mom present. And I am thankful.

"There is a way to live the big of giving thanks in all things. It is this: to give thanks in this one small thing.  The moments will add up." - Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts