Growing up, I used to beg my mom to tell me stories about Amy the Dancing Bear. I owned a copy of the story, but my mom would lay by my bed at night and invent new adventures for Amy.Amy struggled to fall asleep at night. As soon as bedtime approached, she'd invent a new game or a new adventure to explore. Try as her mother might, each brief extension she allotted were insufficient for Amy's imagination.
Much like Amy the Dancing Bear, my mind would awaken at night. I didn't sleep very much (and consequently neither did my mom!) I'd saunter down the hall to my parent's room to shake my mom and whispered, "I can't sleep." She'd take me downstairs and put on a VHS of Winnie the Pooh, or lead me back to my bed to rub my back, recount adventures of Amy the Dancing Bear or sing to me until I relaxed and drifted back to sleep.
Though now I live three time zones away and don't make a habit of waking my mom in the middle of the night from across the country, when I do call her with my latest anguish or anxiety, she's still able to find the right way to rub my back with her words and help me relax.
Mom, thank you for your patience, your amazing baking, your guidance, support, love, inspiration (...and for reading my blog).
No comments:
Post a Comment