onetiredmama: Bedtime Stories
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So am I telling you all this for fun? No. It's a preemptive defensive strike. I want you to feel as tired and pathetic as I do at night, so when I tell you that I don't read Jack a bedtime story, you will not be totally aghast by this stunning admission. Now wait! Before you condemn me to the bad mommy corner, let me explain. First of all, we do read to the kids throughout the day. But it was getting tough to do it at night. After the half hour ordeal of the dragging, cleaning and tucking, Jack would ask to read a book. That was nice for a while, when Good Night Moon made him grin like the big cheese in the sky himself. But as he got older he wanted more complex (looonger) books. Our 8:00 bedtime was turning into 8:20. I could feel the difference at 3am. So one night, I said, "Why don't I tell you a story from when I was little?" He thought that sounded good, so every night I share a memory from when I was a little girl: about the time I got bit twice in one week by two different dogs; how a horse knocked me off his back when I was taking horseback riding lessons one summer. He demands more stories throughout the day, but I always tell him they're for bedtime only. Now it's becoming more interesting. Jack has begun embellishing my stories. Last night I told him, "Once when I was little and living at grandma and grandpa's house, we saw a big hot air balloon coming down a field nearby. So we ran over and watched as they landed and all the air came out." I had to answer all his questions about the mechanics and aerodynamic qualities of a hot air balloon ("ummm, it's a big balloon that floats with a basket. We'll google it tomorrow.) Then he'll add on to the story with his own version of what happened next. "But you forgot how the two people got back in the balloon and floated away. He was named Peter Pan and the lady was named, uh.... Peter Ed. And they floated down into the forest and made all the animals mad." Another night, I told him how a storm knocked out our power for a few days and we had to cook over our fire. When I'm finished, he says, "But you forgot how you got on the bus and went to school, and the teacher called the light fixer-man and he came over to the house with his truck on a tow truck, because that's how he likes it. And he fixed the lights and everything was back, and then you came home on the bus and you were going to throw up (he's incorpating another Little-Lisa memory here) and the bus driver made you sit in the front with a bag and then you threw all up in your bed (he's incorporating his own memory from last week!) " Sometimes he'll tell me a story from when he was little. Anything that happened more than a week ago, counts as "Once when I was little." When we wrap it up, I kiss him goodnight and usually fall into bed laughing, shaking my head over his epilogue to my story. And I wonder what kind of stories he'll tell his children one day. "When I was little, we gave Grandma such a hard time about going to bed. I'd run into her bedroom and pretend I was sleeping with a fake little snore. Once I even tried to go to bed with no clothes on! Sometimes we were baaaad! But every night she would tell me a story from when she was little, just like I'm telling you!" It's not the traditional bedtime story hour, but it brings a happy ending to a long day at our house, one that makes it much easier to tumble into pleasant dreams.
Lisa Scott lives outside of Buffalo, NY with her husband Patrick and their two children Jack and Riley. She co-anchors the morning and noon newscasts at the CBS affiliate.
Comments? Feedback? Kudos? Email Lisa at onetiredmama@modernmom.com
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