The Most Beautiful Story

Remember back when you were little and you loved to have your mother read to you? I do. I remember Mom reading to me even when she was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open. I remember her reading to me when I was sick and when I was well, when I was sad and when I was happy, when I was scared - well, you get the picture. The point is, that my mother put the love of reading into me when I was very very young. I still love to read. When I was pregnant with them, I read - when they were babies, I read - and then when they were just learning to read themselves, I read still more. They loved it, and I loved it. To this day, my young adolescents love to read. They enjoy being transported to that magical, imaginary land, that only a book can take you. At 13, Tyler has read all the Harry Potter novels, the CS Lewis series (classics!), and he reads anything he can get his hands on about dragons, dragon riders, dragon slayers, etc.

Then, there is MacKenzie - my 11 year old. She is more traditional in her choices. She loves anything by Judy Blume (and why not? I did too at her age), she likes Beverly Cleary, and her latest passion are the books about Sammy Keyes. Only now, MacKenzie reads to ... ME!! Nearly every night she asks me to lay in her bed with her and listen to her read. I love it. I put on my pj's, lie down on her bed, she sits so that her legs cross mine, I hold her blanket close to me (I love how it smells of her) and she reads to me. She has wonderful inflection and emotion in her voice. She understands the humor in the pages, and makes them even more funny. She puts in the occasional dramatic pause to make sure that I'm actually listening to her and not putting together a list in my head for the next day's activities. These days, MacKenzie prefers to read to me. Except tonight. She finished the 2nd chapter of Sammy Keyes and the Skeleton Man, and had started into the 3rd when suddenly Mac stopped. I looked at her and she was handing the book to me. I asked if she was finished for the night, and she said, "No, Mom. You read the rest of the chapter." I took the book from her hands, she lay next to me on her stomach watching me as I read. I was really out of practice when it came to reading to my kids, but the joy came back to me, washing warmth over me, reminding me of those little freshly bathed and combed toddlers, in their snuggly footed pajamas, yawning, thumbs in their mouths, "No, Mommy - more!" ringing in my ears, as I read one more page, and sleep drifted over them, transporting them to dreams of the stories I had read. Being the soft-hearted, pathetic that I am, I found myself feeling a little emotional by the end of the chapter, wondering where the time had gone. When we were finished, Mac told me about her day and how Math was getting easier for her. She told me I could go then. In other words - "Its past your bedtime! Get out of my room!"

MacKenzie Jo gave me an extra hug tonight, and an extra "I love you."

That is the Most Beautiful Story.