Ferdinand

It was bedtime for Benji, I was not really in the mood to do much of anything but drink a glass, or bottle of wine. Presley had pooped on the floor, stepped in it, picked it up, then smeared it on her leg about 30 minutes ago. Oh, and then the dog tried to eat it. Don’t worry, Adam sat in the chair gagging, that was helpful…but the last thing I wanted to do was read books to Benji.  He so sweetly asked if I would read him a book, so of course I couldn’t say no without feeling intense guilt for the next three days for knowingly depriving my child of a chance to learn…so, “sure buddy, only one book tonight though, mommy is tired.” He excitedly ran to one of the many bookshelves that we have in our house, he picked up an old, worn book that looked a little rough around the edges. I stood up to see what it was because I did not recognize it which is unusual because I was quite positive that I had read all of the hundreds of books that we have in our home at least 89 times each. It was The Story of Ferdinand, my favorite book from my own childhood. I remember making my mom read this book to me several nights in a row, and I am quite positive that I now know what she was feeling every night when she read to me. After a full day of work and never quite feeling rested, the last thing that sounds appealing in the evening is reading the same children’s book that you read the previous 14 nights. But she did it, because I wanted her to, and because she realized the importance of the quality time and reading to children. Initially I wasn’t too excited to go read, all I could think about was how lonely the bottle of Moscato was looking in my fridge. (Stop judging me.)  As I carried Benji to bed with The Story of Ferdinand in his hand, I began to remember my old bedroom, and my mom sitting next to me reading this exact book. This exact book that started with me, was handed down to my nieces and nephews, and now has found its way into my home and to my own child’s bed. I couldn’t help but to smile a little and read with just a little more excitement than I usually do.  As I read the words, I felt like my mother. The person that I idolized as a youngster and couldn’t stand to be around as a teenager. The person that carried me for the first few years of my life because I screamed if anyone else held me, and the person that I screamed and slammed doors at when I was 14.  I felt a connection tonight, although she wasn’t here, I felt what she felt when I was reading. There’s nothing stronger than the love that a mom has for her babies…babies of any age I’m sure, even the babies that grow to slam doors in your face and “hate” you.