The other night I crawled into my daughter’s bed, put my arm around her and did something I haven’t done in awhile. A little something that had been part of our bedtime routine for years until my ailing father came to live with us and displaced my daughter from her own Tinkerbell room to share one with her younger brother.
“What was your favorite part of today?” I whispered into the dark.
“Seeing Calista,” she answered with a smile in her voice. “And ‘Mr. Fox’.”
We held each other close as together we listed our favorite daughter, favorite mommy, favorite brother, and favorite daddy. This is something we used to do every night when I put Barcelona to bed, when her younger brother still slept in her old crib. A routine set aside when my parenting role unexpectedly extended to caring for my daughter’s grandfather.
Things do not come easy for my little girl. She walked late, talked late, and now struggles with school work. In the past, asking my daughter her favorite part of the day became a touchstone for both of us, a single moment each day when everything else fell away and we reveled in what brought us joy.
Earlier in the day, someone made my daughter cry. Don’t get me wrong, the kid is no stranger to tears. A sharp word, a troublesome brother, a playmate at school, and math homework have made my daughter cry and likely will again. But today it was an adult, someone I would expect to be a friend to children and, more importantly, to mine.
When I turned off my daughter’s light that night and crawled into her bed, I took a chance asking about the day. (More recently she has tended to dwell on the negative.) It crossed my mind that perhaps, by not asking her “favorite part” of the day these past months, I have not allowed my daughter to erase those things, both challenging and hurtful, from her mind.
So we rediscovered our touchstone together, a moment in time to share what makes us happy and to open the door to sweet dreams.
written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com
“What was your favorite part of today?” I whispered into the dark.
“Seeing Calista,” she answered with a smile in her voice. “And ‘Mr. Fox’.”
We held each other close as together we listed our favorite daughter, favorite mommy, favorite brother, and favorite daddy. This is something we used to do every night when I put Barcelona to bed, when her younger brother still slept in her old crib. A routine set aside when my parenting role unexpectedly extended to caring for my daughter’s grandfather.
Things do not come easy for my little girl. She walked late, talked late, and now struggles with school work. In the past, asking my daughter her favorite part of the day became a touchstone for both of us, a single moment each day when everything else fell away and we reveled in what brought us joy.
Earlier in the day, someone made my daughter cry. Don’t get me wrong, the kid is no stranger to tears. A sharp word, a troublesome brother, a playmate at school, and math homework have made my daughter cry and likely will again. But today it was an adult, someone I would expect to be a friend to children and, more importantly, to mine.
When I turned off my daughter’s light that night and crawled into her bed, I took a chance asking about the day. (More recently she has tended to dwell on the negative.) It crossed my mind that perhaps, by not asking her “favorite part” of the day these past months, I have not allowed my daughter to erase those things, both challenging and hurtful, from her mind.
So we rediscovered our touchstone together, a moment in time to share what makes us happy and to open the door to sweet dreams.
written for http://blog.sacramentoparent.com
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