Throwback Thursday: Bedtime Stories with Mom
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Lisa’s mom, reading a bedtime story to Lisa[/caption]
Let’s rewind like an old VHS tape back sixteen years ago, back to a time before the year 2000, before I could drive, spell Mississippi, or stick a cartwheel. Sixteen years ago, I was only five years old — an insanely adorable little five-year-old girl who wore pigtails, overalls, and always had a Beanie Baby cradled in her arms.
I remember being a mischievous little girl hiding in the nooks and crannies of the small, run-down apartment where my mom and I lived, playing games of hide-and-seek that no one else knew were going on. I vaguely remember laughing quietly to myself as I watched the babysitter pace around my apartment trying to find me from my hiding spot in the dresser.
The only time I was willing to give up a good hiding spot underneath the couch cushions was if it was time for a bedtime story. Excitement would always fill my heart when I would hear my mom call out, “Lisa, where are you? It’s time to read!” as she pretended not to see the child-shaped lump behind the curtains or the small head peaking from under the kitchen table. I would jump up from my hiding spot and run as fast as I could to my bookshelf, picking out the book of the day, which always seemed to be Dr. Seuss’s Please Try to Remember the First of Octember! I would crawl into my mom’s lap, squirming and wiggling, almost bursting from anticipation until she would clear her voice and read out in her best Dr. Seuss impression, “Please Try to Remember the First of Octember! by Dr. Seuss.” She would read the book over and over again until I fell asleep.
However, it wasn’t Dr. Seuss’s crazy, kooky rhymes that kept me on my toes and anticipating the next bedtime story; no, it was what those books and bedtime stories meant — time I spent with my mom, a time devoted to only her and me, Darlene and Lisa.
Alone time with my mom was few and far between while I was growing up. See, my mom was a waitress, which meant normal working hours were never a part of the job description. Some days she would work breakfast, lunch, and dinner shifts, leaving her to the point of exhaustion with just enough energy to pick me up from the sitter and tuck us both into bed. So when she had the day off or simply even the night off, which were both rare, we would cuddle up with a book and read. These nights of reading were always special because I seemed to never have enough time to spend with my mother. Those were the nights when I was the happiest.
Those rare nights of my mom and I hopping into bed with a book in hand continue to this day. Whenever we make the four-hour trek from my hometown to my college apartment, my mom pops in an audio book into the CD player. While we silently listen to the person behind the speakers reading to us, I can’t help but be taken back in time. Back to a time sixteen years ago, when I was only just a little girl in pig tails, a little girl waiting anxiously in my hiding spot for my mom to announce that it’s time for a bedtime story.
My mom ignited my love for books and reading. If it wasn’t for her crazy reading voices, dramatic arm waves, and her own love for reading, I honestly do not think I would love reading as much as I do. So this post is for you, Mom, the best mother a girl like me could ever ask for. Thank you for reading to me and with me all those years.
