Yesterday, I stopped to pick up milk on the way home from the store. I found myself stopped dead in the middle of the store to look at children's books. When I saw "The Wind in the Willows" I could not NOT buy it. I remembered reading it to our children, everyone freshly washed and sprawled in the middle of our bed listening to the story before bedtime.
I do not know what the future holds for our William. I don't know what kind of a little boy he will turn into, but I do know that his grandma will give him the gift of words, the same gift that she gave to her own children.
Walking out of the store with my two gallons of milk and my book, I thought happy thoughts. For his first Christmas, he will get a bookshelf for his room from his Grandma and Grandpa. And it will be full of books collected one at a time, through the year. Some of them will be old stories. Some of them will be new stories. But there will be lots of stories. And there just might come the day, when once again, I have a freshly bathed little boy sitting in the middle of my bed listening to a story before he is tucked into bed.