Occasionally, we play a game at our house called "musical beds". This involves one or both children crawling in bed with me and my husband, which we don't mind. Our children are so incredibly fidgety when they sleep that, despite the fact we sleep in a king size bed, I usually move to a bed recently vacated by said child(ren) to get a decent night's sleep.
Anyway, the other night my daughter comes padding in at around 3 a.m. She crawls in between me and her brother, daddy on the other side of the bed snoring away. She spends about 30 minutes trying to get comfortable then whispers, "Mama? Can you take me back to my bed, please?" Internally, I scream, "Yes! Yes! Go back to your own bed!" "Sure," I reply, grabbing my glasses and pillow because I'm unsure how long it will take her to fall back to sleep. We walk down the hallway to her room, get her settled under and among the 4 blankets and 75 stuffed animals on her bed and then I settle in at the other end. We both drift off.
That's not the miracle of which I write.
Approximately 4 hours later, my son enters the room and crawls under the blankets trying not to wake me, but I'm a light sleeper. He picks up a book and begins reading, whispering quietly to himself. He reads each word perfectly.
That's the miracle.
You see, last week during a parent/teacher conference, my husband and I were told that our boy was not reading up to first grade level.
But he reads just fine cuddled up under a hot pink down comforter on an early Sunday morning.
Amen.
Anyway, the other night my daughter comes padding in at around 3 a.m. She crawls in between me and her brother, daddy on the other side of the bed snoring away. She spends about 30 minutes trying to get comfortable then whispers, "Mama? Can you take me back to my bed, please?" Internally, I scream, "Yes! Yes! Go back to your own bed!" "Sure," I reply, grabbing my glasses and pillow because I'm unsure how long it will take her to fall back to sleep. We walk down the hallway to her room, get her settled under and among the 4 blankets and 75 stuffed animals on her bed and then I settle in at the other end. We both drift off.
That's not the miracle of which I write.
Approximately 4 hours later, my son enters the room and crawls under the blankets trying not to wake me, but I'm a light sleeper. He picks up a book and begins reading, whispering quietly to himself. He reads each word perfectly.
That's the miracle.
You see, last week during a parent/teacher conference, my husband and I were told that our boy was not reading up to first grade level.
But he reads just fine cuddled up under a hot pink down comforter on an early Sunday morning.
Amen.
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