Sang G/Son to sleep tonight, tucked beneath smooth cotton sheets and heavy blankets. And for a few moments, I am with my mother’s mother’s mothers and with my son’s son’s sons.
When, as I always do when he’s here, I pull the Moon & Stars blanket out of the guest room closet, G/Son says, “Nonna, Who gave that blanket to you?” He knows the answer; we tell this story every time. I say, “Your mommy and daddy gave it to me one year, back before you were even born. Isn’t it pretty?” And I smooth it on top of all the other covers.
And then I say, “Hear the wind outside? It’s cold tonight. We may even have frost in the morning that will kill all the gentle leaves. But here we are, safe inside Nonna’s cottage, in warm pajamas, under warm covers, under even the Moon & Stars blanket. We’re safe, and warm, and dry. You’ve had chicken, and apples, and cheese, and cookies. You’ve had a bath and brushed your teeth. We’ve played Set and Nonna’s read you a chapter of The Secret Garden. And now it’s time for sleep.”
By now, G/Son’s eyelids are drooping, drooping, drooping. And that’s when I sing: “Hoof and horn, hoof and horn, all that dies will be reborn.”
Tomorrow, we’re going to go downtown to see dinosaurs.
May it be so for you.