Narrating bedtime stories to my kids has been a sort of ritual at home since they were toddlers. Either me or my husband would sit with Timothy on our lap and Sarah leaning in on our shoulder, while we read out stories every night before bed – Cinderella, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Hansel and Gretel, Rapunzel, Rumpelstiltskin, The Elves and the Shoemaker, The Ugly Duckling, Little Red Riding Hood, Goldilocks and the Three Bears – the list is endless. Every night would mean a new story; new in the sense that it shouldn’t have been narrated the previous night but at the same time, it had to be one of these classics.
As my kids are growing up, I can start to see them having preferences of their own. Timothy is more inclined towards superhero stories, whereas Sarah seems to be in love with magical creatures of any kind – elves, pixies, gnomes, fairies. But one thing hasn’t changed (and I’m so glad it hasn’t); we still have our special storytelling and storylistening sessions every single evening, without fail. Kudos to the written word and our love for reading… May it last forever!