123 Hearts of Thanks

Story-Telling With My Boys When I was a little girl, my dad worked A LOT. He flew for the Marine Corps and left on various deployments, and then, he went to the reserves, where he only flew for them on the weekends. During the week, he flew for Delta. You can imagine the stress that must have put on him, because he was gone most of the time, and at the same time, it put a lot on my mom. I will forever be grateful for the sacrifices both my parents made, so that I could have all of the necessities, as well as many comforts in life. When my dad came home from long trips, he always helped around the house. It seems like time expanded when he was home, because he cleaned things, completed house repairs, accomplished yard work, church callings, service, time with my mom, practiced sports with us, and just never sat still. At nights, we would get so excited because he would come to tuck us in, and before we went to sleep, he would often times tell us stories. Mostly, they were repeats. I think he told us probably five or six different ones, but we didn't care. We knew each one, and we anticipated those stories. We knew his eyes would be animated, as well as his voice. We knew his hands would tickle us when the wolf got Little Red Riding Hood. We knew the hair on our necks would raise when he knocked on the door. We could repeat the lines, and hung on his every word. Oh, I will NEVER forget those stories. Last night, before tucking the kids in for bed, I realized that it had been too long since we'd had a story like that. We read books and we wrestle and play, but they needed to be snuggled up to me in a bed, waiting in that same anticipation. And so . . . two little boys (because Ethan was already asleep) were made merry last night, because of the love that a father bestowed on me long ago. I'm so grateful I get to have those moments with my children.