"Oh come on guys. You have hundreds of books to choose from. Can you pleeeease choose a good bed time story kind of book? Mummy doesn't enjoy reading about Iron Man."
Look. I know it's not all about me. But it kind of is since I'm the one reading the books.
Adrian went off to the Robert Munsch section of the book shelf in their room while I chose a couple of Sandra Boynton books for Finley.
Robert Munsch. Sandra Boynton. I was winning the book battle tonight.
My eldest flipped through all 30 plus Munsch books and then stopped and held one up for me to see.
"Mommy? This is the one that always makes you cry."
"Yes, I Love You Forever does make me cry."
I couldn't recall the last time we read that one but I do remember attempting to read through a giant lump in my throat, furiously blinking back the tears as my husband watched from the doorway completely bemused.
"Ok. Let's read it then." Nice kid. He actually wants to see his Mother become a snotty, blubbering mess?
I was trying to convince myself that this would be the time I could get through it without tears pouring down my face.
I was wrong.
I've always understood, even as a little girl reading I Love you Forever, the deep sentiment behind this book while others may have scoffed at the Mother creepily stalking her grown son. I never found it weird. Of-course it would be totally whacked if that were to happen in real life but that is not what this story is about beneath the pictures, beneath the words written in the book. When I found out last year that he wrote the song that is woven through the book after his wife gave birth to two still borns, the emotions I attached to it became deeper still. Especially when reading it to my two very much alive, wonderfully healthy beautiful boys.
I turned page after page, singing the song and reading the words as tears ran down my cheeks. My sons' leaned into me when they saw me crying.
As I closed the book up Adrian gently wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb (a very grown up gesture, one that I've done to him many times) and asked, "Why are you crying? It's just a book."
"Yes but a book can touch your heart deeply. So deeply that you have to cry sometimes. Do you think it's silly or okay to cry?"
Finley, my four year old sitting on the other side of me said, "It'th okay. I wath crying but I wipe my tearth away."
I was pretty sure he didn't cry. But still, he knew it would've been okay to cry and that made me feel good. I also knew he was saying those words, my delightfully sensitive child, to make his Mommy feel better.
And that made me feel quite wonderful.
As I kissed their lips and hugged them about half a dozen times as is our usual nightly ritual I then laid down beside my 6 year old for a moment. He threw his arm over my neck and kissed me ever so sweetly on the tip of my nose.
The little voice of my small one drifted down from the top bunk, "Mommy? I love you to de moon and back forever and ever and beyond."
"Me too baby. I love you to infinity and beyond."
I'll Love them Forever
I'll Like them For Always
As long as I'm living