JT and I follow the same routine every night. I tuck him in to bed and read to him. I've been doing this for his whole life, nearly nine years. We've come a long way from the baby JT who avoided sleep and would respond, "No, no, no stories" when I would seek him out with books in hand at bedtime.
His most favorite book in his early years was Good Night Moon. And though there was a period when I feared that bunny in bed with his bowl full of mush would be eclipsed by the excitement of the dreadfully named The Truck Book, a book that I found as dull as he found it thrilling, he still has fond memories of the Moon.
For some years now we've read chapter books at night. We pick them out together and enjoy the process of hearing a story unfold. These days the book we are reading together is Bed Knobs and Broomsticks. And when my reading to him ends, he snuggles under the covers and reads to himself for 15 or 20 minutes while I head downstairs to fold some laundry and run the dishwasher.
As we close in on his 9th birthday, I'm aware of just how big my boy has grown and how far he's come. At night, when he finishes his reading, he calls downstairs to me to say that he's done reading. And then he says, "Good night, Mama. I love you."
I call back upstairs, "Good night. I love you to, son." And only then is my day complete.