Bedtime stories and the tales they tell

published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend edition February 4th, 2011

This week, I’ve been reading a story to my two youngest at bedtime. It isn’t relevant that it’s Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift. The most significant thing, to me, is simply that I’m reading to them, because it’s been ages since I’ve done that.

It’s hard to have to admit that, considering that bedtime stories were vital when I was younger and newer to this parenting thing. Nightly reading was a must. It was a delicious time to bond together and to talk of the things that really mattered, to explain what words meant, and to go over life’s lessons. It was a time to delve into the next chapter and to hear how the Ingalls family had fared during The Long Winter. Or, for my young and male pyromaniac, I would read Matches, Lighters, and Firecrackers are not Toys by Dorothy Chlad. It never mattered then how tired I was.

Naturally, the children were never too tired for a bedtime story. They always seemed to be full of energy no matter what, and they relished this time. It was not to be taken from them. I now understand why kids have so much energy and we don’t. They sap it directly from us, right through the pores or something. Consequently, parents tend to be short stocked while the children have an ample supply – an overabundance, really.

Having the time and the leisure to read to my younger children (much less just for me) has been one of the “collateral damages” of my working outside the home. It has, sadly, fallen by the wayside. There just isn’t the time to squeeze everything in, because those 24 hours are as fixed and rigid in any given day, no matter how much you plan to accomplish.

Having been a stay at home mom for seventeen years, I almost felt like a professional at it. Granted, it had had its darker and duller moments. I had had those moments of self-doubt, but more often, it had had its supreme joys too. I feel that the time invested in the children then was something that has had a tremendous impact for them.

Apart from the cleaning, laundry, and cooking, I had loved being a stay-at-home mom. I know it’s not sophisticated to admit this, especially if you have set aside a specific training or education or have forgone a potentially lucrative career. I had come into stay-at-home-dom after having been the “working mother.” I use quotes to affirm that no matter whether you work outside the home or not, you’re pretty much always working.

For two-and-a-half years, I had left my firstborn child in someone else’s hands, right from the time she was six weeks old. I had hated every day of the separation. On occasion, when I got to work and got a whiff of the spit-up smell that was coming from my shoulder and hair, I realized that our separation was not quite as neat or complete as I had imagined. I used to swallow that lump in my throat every morning after dropping her off at the babysitter. I would pray bitterly, “Okay, God. Is this how You want it?”

Our move from Long Island to Northern California, where we lived for almost nine years, allowed me to be a stay-at-home mom without even feeling a financial pinch. When God answers our prayers, He not only meets our needs, He so often exceeds them.

It didn’t occur to me that my daughter would remember what had seemed part of the distant past. When she was four or five, I had pulled out my long dress coat from the netherworld of the back of the closet. Her eyes brightened when she saw the coat, “You used to wear that to work, right Mommy?” I was curious. I asked if she remembered that time. “Yes, Mommy,” she said. “I used to cry for you from the door.”

It is so tempting, especially in a country where material things are easily attainable, to think we need to give our kids this and that, when what they really need from us is our time and our love. You must weigh what you want for your child. If you want them to grow up with lots of things at the expense of training, you miss a tender time in your child’s life when you have the ability to help mold their character.

I feel the two biggest things you can do for your kids: be there for them, and be content in doing so. Success can be gauged daily: if your child has learned something and has a grateful heart, the day has been a success.

I can’t say whether I’ve been or am a successful mom or educator. Kids are like baking a cake that takes 15 years to cook. While I might feel that the aroma coming from the oven is a good one, I am reluctant to say too much lest the cake flop, burn, or undercook. Only time will tell - but that’s no reason for me to let it slip away.