"many happy returns of the day,"

said Pooh to Eeyore and Eeyore to Pooh.

Eliza and I are reading Winnie the Pooh, which my mom also read to me when I was a little girl.

do da do, do da do, do da do (picture Wayne's World) ... begin flashback:
Kristen and I are in our beds, in our room. Kelli is in her bed, in the room next to ours. Jake, who is always the lucky one, because he's older and because his room is in the loft, is sitting in the hallway with a pillow and blanket by Mom. Her voice carries as if by some sort of magic to all of us while our eyelids become heavy and our breaths more steady. As she reads each word takes me to another place. I fight to stay awake so that I don't miss any of the story. My eyes won't stay open anymore. Pooh is stuck in the tree. With the bees. Christopher Robin says lovingly, "Silly Ol' Bear" and I can see him shake his head. I'm asleep, dreaming of fields of carrots and honey pots and lost Eeyore tails. My mom read many books to us this way. Her voice bringing us stories like the Mouse and the Motorcycle, poems from Shel Silverstein, and more. Each night her voice would actually become other voices. Eeyore's gloomy yet calming voice would lull us to sleep. Ralph was in my room, asking me to let him ride my toy motorcycle. I will never forget how she imitated Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Kanga, Roo, Rabbit, and Christopher Robbins' voices. As I read it to Eliza I try to do the same for her. Paint watercolor scenes in her mind for each story. I try to make their voices distinct, unique, and am disappointed when they do not sound like my mom's did. I hope my young age is what made these words read by my mom so magical and that Eliza feels the magic of words at bedtime.