Nightly adventures in misreading
I grew up with few family traditions. My mom was mostly concerned with making sure my siblings and I were fed, didn’t get hit by cars, and returned home before darkfall. I get our lack of traditions and don’t regret it anymore.
I nevertheless strive to create new family traditions where I can. I’ve written about one here already: our nighttime thankfulness discussions.
Another important one is nighttime reading. Once in a rare while, we’ll skip this nightly tradition, but 360 or so nights a year, you’ll find us reading at least two bedtime stories together. This is all well and good when I’m not pregnant and exhausted by 3 p.m., but can lead to some troubles in current circumstances.
As I inadvertently doze off while reading, my son’s prodding brings me back to wakefulness.
“Mommy, what’s a ‘nursing home’?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You just said it!”
“Oh, um, yeah. Sorry. I’m awake. I am.”
“Mom-my, you just said ‘Daddy.’” The real word is ‘Dalmation.’”
“Mommy, why did you just say ‘dammit’?”
“I did not?”
“Yes, you did. That’s a naughty word.”
“My mouth slipped, sorry. What I meant was, ‘barn.’”
Oh, we’re making family traditions, all right! I like to think of ours as a nightly reading tradition, but I wonder if my son might someday think of it as our nightly yep-Mom’s-human check.
Either way, it works for me.