Bedlam at Bedtime? Try Tweaking your Tales! WRITTEN BY WENDY HOBDAY HAUGH
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hen I was a child, I loved nothing more than leaning up against my mother and listening, spellbound, as she read me fairy tales. Those enchanted sessions made me feel special, protected, and loved, and I couldn’t wait to share that magic with my firstborn, Henry. I’d read about the importance of reading aloud to a child, and I’d dreamed about the precious hours my son and I would spend doing just that. But, as I soon learned, dreams and reality don’t always mesh. After herding my toddler to bed for story time, I quickly discovered that not every child leans in and listens. Some fidget and flip, and my little guy was one of those. Without a doubt, Henry was a squirmer. I don’t recall ever fidgeting beside my mother or merrily flipping forward and backward through the pages of a book. But, then, I was a quiet, shy child, and Henry was no minime. Constantly wiggling, chattering non-stop, his gnat-like attention span soon wilted my warm ‘n fuzzy feelings for our nightly ritual. His frenetic page-turning messed up my reading and made me feisty. Was he even listening? I groused silently as he babbled away, perfectly content with his own scattered version of a story. Night after night, oozing maternal failure, I’d flick off the light, kiss Henry goodnight, and stonily exit the room. Despite countless attempts to make him conform to my childhood template, Henry’s creative young mind was lightyears ahead of my weary one, and my approach simply wasn’t working. One night, as the same crazy scene unfolded, I finally lost it. Slamming the book shut, I threw it on the floor, switched off the light, and dropped down on the bed beside Henry—who, suddenly, was very, very still. For a few uncomfortably long seconds, the air between us crackled with tension. Then, miraculously, inspiration dawned. Drawing a deep breath, I reached over and gently rubbed my son’s small hand, instantly dispelling his fears that Mommy had morphed into a monster. “Okay, kiddo. Tonight we’re going to try something different,” I began. “I’m going to tell you ‘The Story of Henry’s Nice Day.’” Quickly, he snuggled up against me in the darkness, eager for a new adventure. Then, chronologically, in storybook fashion, I launched into a detailed and animated account of
every big and little thing my sweet young boy had done that day. Waking up. Getting dressed. Having breakfast. Watching Sesame Street. Playing outside. Shopping for groceries. Greeting neighbors. Chasing kitties. And if Henry had done something naughty, I recapped that, too, giving it an upbeat spin. Life is full of missteps, and I wanted my little guy to know that, despite any unsettling incidents, we still had a really nice day. On that very first night, something magical happened. Henry stopped fidgeting and started listening attentively, hanging on my every word. But would it work again tomorrow night? I wondered. To my delight, it did. Whereas traditional bedtime stories had failed to capture Henry’s attention, or captivate his imagination, a more customized approach perfectly suited his age and personality. My son loved our new method of storytelling, and so did I. As our bedtime groove deepened, Henry began excitedly interjecting details that I had forgotten to mention. Clearly, this wasn’t idle talk for him. It was the story of his very own life, and nothing delighted him more than hearing its daily recap. In no time, my son was diving into bed at night, eager for our “talk,” “Let’s talk The Nice Day, Mommy!” he’d cry, eyes shining with excitement. My heart melted every time. Henry’s and my nightly stories continued for several years and, in time, I tried this personalized approach with my two younger sons as well. But it never really took with them as it had with Henry. By then, with three lively youngsters in tow, our family tapestry had become more complex, and story time evolved into more of a group affair than a one-on-one. My three sons are all grown up now and pursuing their own lives. But every so often when Henry visits, one of us will mention “the nice day,” and we both break out grinning. After all these years, cherished memories of snuggling together in darkened rooms, recounting the details of childhood, still burn brightly. To this day, I am grateful that a personal disappointment led me to rethink my story options and try something different. Out of frustration and failure, a precious new tradition was born. By letting go of my own expectations and finding a solution better suited to my child, bedtime ceased to be a burden and became a blessing instead. SF
46 | SARATOGA FAMILY | WINTER 2019 saratogaTODAYnewspaper.com