“Why don’t you read to her – Winnie the Pooh – that way you’ll both enjoy it?” I encouraged Baba who was frustrated with bedtime the week before Christmas. Secretly I know I can use the extra few minutes for the almost-finished “Christmas pajamas” hiding in my sewing desk.
I finish his pants to the background sound of the first chapter of that classic, then scramble to hide it behind my sewing shoebox when his voice stops. The instructions go in the drawer so as not to reveal any clues – he only knows she’s getting new pajamas (but hasn’t seen them either; they’re the same fabric). Oh, how I love this handmade Christmas.
He leaves her room – she’s asleep after just one chapter – “Did you know Winnie-the-Pooh’s name is EDWARD!?” I smile. The night before, I finished our chapter of Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates and she smiled up at me, handed me the book she’d been looking through, and waved “night-night.” Surprised, I returned the good-night and left her room. Not a peep out of her, even when her music stopped playing. Bedtime, as with everything else in our daughter’s 20 months so far, just keeps getting better and better.