October 9: Storytime

Every single night, always and forever, Aria and I have read stories. 

When she was just a slip of a girl, she would pick a story and insist we read it every single night. Picture books. The kind with only a sentence or two on a page, but they would take 30 minutes to get through because she would linger on the page.

"Oh look - a bunny!". "Why did the bunny go in the garden, mama?" We read those books until I had no need of the page to read from, they were emblazed in my heart. For Aria, though, every night was a new experience. She would ask new questions, as though she were developing the characters for her own story. She would count the flowers, spy a new detail, lovingly stroke the page. 

The stories have evolved over time. They don't have pictures anymore. We don't finish an entire book - we typically cover a chapter or two. But her curiosity, her desire to discuss and debate the stories and its characters, is still very much a part of our experience.

It is my very favorite part of the day. 

The Story of Ferdinand the Bull

Dad would come home after too long at work
and I'd sit on his lap to hear
the story of Ferdinand the Bull; every night,
me handing him the red book until I knew
every word, couldn't read,
just recite along with drawings
of a gentle bull, frustrated matadors,
the all-important bee, and flowers—
flowers in meadows and flowers
thrown by the Spanish ladies.
Its lesson, really,
about not being what you're born into
but what you're born to be,
even if that means
not caring about the capes they wave in your face
or the spears they cut into your shoulders.
And Dad, wonderful Dad, came home
after too long at work
and read to me
the same story every night
until I knew every word, couldn't read,
just recite.
- Matt Mason

Brandi Carlile - The Story