Sunday, June 9, 2013
|Maurice Sendak-Where the Wild Things Are|
At 8:30 p.m. every night for more than ten years, I turned to my children and said, "It's almost story time!"
No one fussed or argued they simply
scurried to the kitchen for a glass of milk and chocolate chip cookies and then off they went, scampering up the stairs to brush their teeth and put on their pj's.
Story time was sacred, it had it's own rituals.
Who would be the host of the night's adventure?
Amid the debate of who had it last a choice was made. The lights were dimmed, the blankets pulled back, the pillows fluffed and then we snuggled. They waited with anticipation as I pulled out the book that was tucked under my arm.
They did not know what my selection would be. Sometimes it was a new title and other times I would bring out old favorites.
three sets of avid little eyes turned their attention the book and the adventure began.
My voice changed, the tempo increased, monsters came and were conquered, dragons were slain, fairy tales came to life. The children laughed, gasped, and waited. They were awed and transported to far away places.
When the story was over it took its place on the shelf where it waited to be summoned once again.
And as I tucked them into bed and we shared good night kisses, I would think of the time that we had just shared and I knew that they were
moments that would never come again.
And I cherished every one.