Story Time

My mom was a very big believer of story time. In the morning Chantal, Reuben and I would go to the library or to the store, but for some reason we were always done with our errands around noon. So we would eat our lunch (we were not allowed to eat Mac n Cheese because of a food fight incident.. I have no idea how Mom knew it was us, or how she knew that the giggling in the bathroom cupboard would happen to be the culprits hiding), and then Mom would let us pick out one or two books each for her to read.While eating lunch, we would discuss how many books we hoped Mom would let us pick. Usually it was only one book each on account that we had worn her out, but some days, when we were on our best behavior, our mom would let us pick TWO books out. On those days the happiness experienced by a child on Christmas was small when compared to the joy and excitement of picking out two books.  We would always dash off to the book cupboard and pick out the two books that we were DYING to have read to us.

This was the book that I loved for several years, and will always be my favorite book from my childhood. I loved listening to my mom sing  "Tingalayo, come little donkey come".

 After negotiations with each other about which books we were picking, we would all scoot as close to my mom as possible. Reuben usually sat on my mom's lap, and Chantal and I would alternate which side of my mom we were on. Then the story time began. My mom would read to us from our favorite books with her beautiful voice. Her voice would unfold plots about daring princesses and prince's who were running away from evil dragons, or it would tell the sad story of the little girl with the matches. We would all sit there, spellbound, just waiting for the page to be turned and for the story to continue. I was always so exhausted from my adventures that morning, and so intent on the story, that every single time these story telling session began, I was so pressed up against my mom trying to get closer to the book that my arm would fall asleep. It was when my arm fell asleep that I knew that there was nothing in my life that could make me happier than at that moment. I was with my three best friends, Chantal, Reuben, and of course my Mom, I was captivated be a story, and I knew I was loved. Those precious moments of story time will be cherished for the rest of my life, and I will continue the tradition of reading with my own kids.

Reading a book to my nephew and love of my life, Chaun

One book that I remember my mom reading to us time and time again (mainly because Reuben liked it) was the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

It was just about this little boy who had a million things go wrong with his day, and each time it made the day worse. I don't remember the ending of the book, but this book became a culture in our family. Whenever I would have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I would go up to my mom and tell her all about my horrible day. The conversation would go like so:

Me: Mom.. I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Mom: (while reading a book) What happened?
Me: Stephen didn't play with me today at recess...
Mom: Is your love bucket empty?
(this was a reference to another book about a guy who had a hole in his bucket dear Liza dear Liza..)

Me: Yep, there is a hole in it.. (and obviously it is the end of the world, can't you tell by the look on my face?)
Mom: Here, let me fill up your love bucket.

And then my mom would sit down on her rocking chair, and I would lay on her legs, with my head and legs making a cross with hers, with my arms and legs dangling inches away from the floor. And then my mom would proceed to rub my back, and all my sorrows seemed to dissipate with the parallel speed of the seconds ticking off the clock. Soon the world was once again spinning, and my love bucket was filled up enough that I could  continue on with my life for a couple more days before I would need that extra recharge of having my love bucket filled up again.

This picture doesn't have anything to do with this post.. But I just love my mom so much!

Through her example of always having a book in her right hand while cooking dinner or cleaning with her left hand, my mom instilled in us children a deep love of books. Whether it is a simple children's book about a boy who was having a bad day, or if it is about a secret society who is threatening to destroy the faith of billions of Catholics (thank you Angels and Demons for keeping me up the last couple nights..), a love of literature is something that we will always have with us. And on days when I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, the only thing that will make it better is a couple hours where I shut the world of reality out and lose myself in a captivating book. Thank you Mom for those story times. They have had a longer lasting effect than you could have imagined.

Peace and Blessings. Peeeaace and blessings :)