"MO-om!" Kensington yelled for a third time.
"Don't yell in the house!" I yelled back sheepishly. Wasn't this the first chance I'd had to sit today? She called again from upstairs, well past her bedtime.
"Mom! I can't fall asleep!" And instead of doing what I usually would do at that hour of the evening, which would be to ask her to try again and don't call for me anymore, I found myself running up the stairs to her room.
"You can't fall asleep?" I asked, more patiently than usual. When she nodded, I asked, "Do you want me to sing to you?" She did.
That's the night our tradition began a couple of months ago. After our bedtime story, she snuggles up with her "tankies," lying on her pillows placed perfectly side-by-side, sucking on her two fingers she has since she was a baby, dimpled cheeks and eyes closed, and I softly sing,
Edelweiss, Edelweiss,
Every morning you greet me.
Small and white, clean and bright,
You look happy to meet me.
Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, Edelweiss,
Bless my homeland forever.
Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow,
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, Edelweiss,
Bless my homeland forever.
"What is your favorite part, Mom?" she asked.
"I think it's 'Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow, Bloom and grow forever,' and then, 'Bless my homeland forever.'"
"Mine too," she smiled, before rolling over and falling asleep.
"That's the best thing I did all day," I thought to myself as I walked slowly down the stairs. And then I pondered for the rest of the evening and for days afterwards how many "Best Things" I have missed.
And a new tradition has sprung from that where I will catch Dallas or myself in a similar moment and tell him or myself, "That's the best thing you did all day."
And here's an email I received from Kensington's teacher:
