I miss tucking my sons into bed. I miss all the rituals we created. How we came to them I am unsure. In my sweet memories of the most delicious tuck in times, they are six and four.
My oldest had a harder time falling asleep. He worried about nightmares. He worried about falling asleep.
I remembered this fear from my own childhood. I had to be taught to fall asleep. I don’t remember anyone tucking me in. There weren’t any rituals.
I didn’t know how to fall asleep until Big Bird on Sesame Street taught me how. There was an episode where he had a hard time going to sleep and one of the grown-ups taught him how to relax each part of his body starting with his toes, to his feet and up his legs and body and by the time he reached his head, he would surely be asleep. This is how I learned too.
With my son, we learned he needed beautiful images in his head to fall asleep to. Each night we would think of three beautiful images he could dwell upon, until they became parts of his dreams. There were a few which he always returned to:
1) A deer we once saw in the middle of a stream while we were camping in Montana.
2) How Winnie the Pooh looked so cute and happy when he got ready to eat hunny.
3) The way his little classmate looked like a cartoon character when she wore her hair in two ponytails.
For his younger brother, the ritual became about names. He loved when I called him “Baby Tomás” as he was the baby of the family. He loved the sound of his middle name too. He loved when we said he was like a little version of his abuelito, for he was. So he began to ask me to call him by these different names with “little” in front of each time.
“Call me your little Tomás” he’d say as he snuggled down under the covers.
Somewhere the names started coinciding with whatever we did that day,
“Call me your little Batman.” When we had played Batman or he had worn his playsuit.
Then the names were seasonal.
“Call me your little Easter egg, your little turkey, your little Christmas tree.”
I’ll never forget two that had me laughing snot right out of my nose.
“Call me your little Nat King Cole” or
“Call me your little Martin Luther King Jr.”
These sweet boys are now young men, both taller than myself and go to bed well after I do. They now take turns tucking me in. They make sure I have a full glass of water by my bed and that the fan is on (I like the white noise) and as they close the bedroom door, I hear, “Good Little Mommy.”
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Thrilled to announce I will be partnering up with Seattle Library Foundation for my book launch for “Undaunted Joy: The Revolutionary Act of Cultivating Delight”! at the Downtown Seattle Central Library!
Celebrate this incredible milestone with an evening of readings, conversation, and fun. Complimentary light bites and happy hour beverages will be served.
Space is limited so RSVP here. I would absolutely love to see your faces and fill up the place!
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Only 2 Spots Left in my Generative Zoom Workshop on Joy. I hope that you will join us
How do you even begin to get ideas on what to write, let alone something joyful?
In this generative workshop we will look at work from three joyful writers. Being in conversation with other writers helps us develop our own pieces.
You will come out of this workshop with the beginnings of three joyful pieces to develop and sharpen in the days thereafter.
Details:
+ Saturday March 3/29 10am -noon PST
+ Cost $60 (Paid via Venmo, PayPal or Zelle)
Yippee!!! I can't believe it's finally (almost) here. See you soon my friend.