Books

She could still hear her mother's voice as she read to her each night. The softness. The calm. Almost hypnotic.  It had never occurred to her then that this cadence was on purpose. A placid voice creating a safe place to lay down your head and sleep. An oral sleep aid that pulled the day's activities slowly away from her active mind and allowed her to roll gently into sleep.  

She loved that half an hour every night. Snuggled under the covers, resistant to the idea of bedtime. Bursting to share the wonders of her day with this mother she adored. Sometimes she would pick the book, but she liked it better when her mother read her the stories that she'd enjoyed as a child. It made her feel more connected. Made her a contemporary to her "child mother." Closed the gap in their ages.  

It would start with her moving over just a bit to make room for her mom to sit next to her. Sometimes she would lie with her head on the pillow, but more often she would move her head to her mom's lap. She loved the way her mom smelled, the feel of her hand on the side of her face, the sound of her voice. In these moments she was secure and safe, alone with the person she loved most of all. 

The bedtime readings rarely had voices like the day time recitations. Her mother knew that too much characterization would get her imagination going and sleep would be more elusive. It was the steady beat of her voice, like soft raindrops falling gently that lulled her off into her dreams.

 From Words and Pictures Pictures and Words by Heather Cronrath and Patty Kaufman