Family Sweetness

Sally named our lower-level suite–a bedroom with two single beds, play area with a pull-out couch, and a bathroom–“the family sweetness.” It’s perfect for sleepovers.

Last night, the kids had a sleepover with Umma and Baba.

Mindful the next morning was a school day, we started bedtime preparations at 7 p.m. Paul set up the pull-out bed for me. Tubs. Jammies. Teeth. Choo-choo, I thought to myself, the bedtime train is rolling.

I forgot about the pre-bedtime burst of creative energy. Quickly, Walter and Sally devised a game where Sally would draw something to introduce the instrumentation Walter selected on the keyboard. Violin, piano, percussion, bells, and, b-a-s-s, which, I explained is a silly way to spell something pronounced base.” Just one more, Umma,” I heard more than once.

Finally, Walter was in the bedroom reading to Paul and, snuggled in the pull-out bed, I was reading to Sally. Although Walter is an amazing reader, I read faster. While Walter read, Sally and I finished several short books and started reading a chapter book. Sally was a not amused when, at 8:15 p.m., I was going stop with one chapter unread and tuck her in her bed whether Walter was finished or not.

“Just one more chapter!” she correctly observed.

“OK,” I said. “But it’s late. After this chapter it’s right to sleep. No more stories. No lullaby. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed.

As Sally climbed into her bed, she authoritatively announced to Walter, “It’s late. Right to sleep. No lullaby.”

Tucks and kisses, close the door. Love you. Good night. Good night.

I was still awake at 9 p.m. when Sally came out of the bedroom holding the band-aid I offered to remove during her bath. I was awake at 9:15 p.m. when she came out holding the second and final band-aid needing to be removed.

I was not awake at 10 p.m. As if in a dream, I heard a whispered “Umma.” I opened my eyes to find Walter looking down at me. “Umma, I had a bad dream. Actually, a day dream, because I wasn’t sleeping.”

As I tucked him back into bed, Walter quietly said, “I think a lullaby would have helped.”

“Taka vesa doka,* honey. I love you.”

—Sue Edison-Swift
3/25/2019

*Taka vesa doka (made up spelling), pronounced “tuck-ah ves-sah duck-ah,” begins the lullaby I made up when their mom was a baby. It’s a phrase my Norwegian-American father translated as “such a little dolly.”