When I was a little girl my mom or dad, sometimes both of them, would tuck us into bed at night. First we knelt by the side of the bed and said our prayers, me, Priscilla, and Rachel, and then Mom or Dad. Prayers were always followed by hugs and kisses, often in multiples, and quite often, before we actually went to sleep, there was a call for a drink of water.
I shared a bedroom with Priscilla for most of our childhood. We would talk in the dark before settling down, starting with whispers that sometimes escalated into loud laughter, especially if the game involved throwing our stuffed animals back and forth between beds. One of our parents would then come down the hall or call out from the other room. "Hey! Quiet down in there and go to sleep!" and we would remember once again to talk in whispers.
Most nights one or both of us would find the need (or desire) to get out of bed and head for the bathroom, and then on the return trip there would come the rush of excitement, a mad dash down the hall, and a wild leap under the covers before whatever lay in wait underneath the bed could grab us by the ankles, drag us into their lair, and devour us. Most often the imagined villain was a witch.
As we grew into our teens the bedtime routine gradually changed and Mom and Dad no longer always tucked us in at night. I'm not sure when it happened, but I still recall the nights when I would lay awake in the dark and suddenly realize that Dad had not come to give me that hug I so desperately loved. I don't think he knew how much it meant for him to come in kiss my cheek or head and wrap me in his arms before I drifted off. I still miss that and think I always will.
"409" Foto Tune.
4 hours ago