The Bedtime Story

Bedtimes ain't easy.
We have our rituals: bath time, naked time (this will be covered in a future post), pajama time, brush teeth and cup o'water time, and reading time. But the whole going-to-sleep-as-soon-as-possible-so-my-parents-don't-explode time ritual isn't quite worked out. For the past few months, in order to get the kids to sleep we would have to lay down with them in their big beds, and wait patiently for them to fall asleep or for them to dismiss us to our parental chores. The latter was rare.
I discovered a minor miracle -- telling a new and completely made up story to each kid in their dark room fills their minds and encourages them to nod off much easily than in the past. The bonus is that we don't have to lay down with them, and are free to do more fun stuff (like do the dishes, or put away the chaos of toys in the living room) much earlier.
My first story is called "The Magic Book". I made it up from scratch one night on a whim, and i have told it to them on most nights since then It starts out the same, has some similar elements in each telling, and ends in the same predictable way that lets them know it's time to sleep. Here's how it goes:

"The Magic Book", by Matthew Ackerman
(variations to be published later..., all copyrights are implied and enforced!)

There once was a small boy who, when he got home from school one day, he decided to visit his Grandpa. So he got on his bike and went on his way.
He rode, and he rode and he rode.
He rode, and he rode, and he rode some more.
He rode past the General Store.
He rode past the Supermarket.
He rode past the Library.
He rode past the Town Hall.
Eventually, he got to his Grandpa's house.
He rode his bike up the driveway, pitched it into the front yard, ran up the front steps and knocked on the front door.
*knock*knock*knock*
"WHO IS IT?" boomed his Grandpa.
"It's me, Grandpa," said the boy.
"Oh, well now, come on in, son" said his Grandpa. "Come right on in. Can I get you a cold glass of Iced Tea?"
"Yeah, Grandpa. That would be great."
"Well, then why don't you make yourself at home while I fix it for you." And off he went to the kitchen.
The boy headed to the sitting room, the big room with Grandpa's big chair. He walked over to the chair, the cushy chair with the straight back and the funny smell. That funny smell of Grandpa's. He looked up at all the books on all the bookshelves on the walls. There were so many books he couldn't even count them all.
There were brown ones.
There were blue ones.
There were red ones and green ones.
There were even a few black ones.
But there was one in particular that caught the boy's eye, a brown one just a little darker than the others on the bottom shelf. The boy walked over to look at it. He tried to pull it off the shelf but it was stuck. With two hands he gently tugged at the book and with a cloud of dust that tickled his nose, it came free.
The book was heavier than it looked. He lugged it over to his Grandpa's chair, sat up in it, pulled the book onto his outstretched legs and opened the book to the first page.
"The Magic Book," read the first page. Hmmph, thought the boy, this book doesn't seem so magical. I wonder what makes it so special. And he turned the page.
There were no words on this page. Just a picture.
It was a picture of a wide open field.
The field was marked by a stone wall on each side, and there were rows of trees on the edges of the field. The tall grass was green in the bright sunlight, and there was a thin dirt path that winded its way from the close edge of the field to the far end. At the far end of the field, on the path there seemed to be a little girl with a small dog. They were hard to see from this view, but they were there.
And was the dog's tail wagging? Actually wagging? Nah. Couldn't be. It's not like this was a movie; this was just a book.
And he turned the page.
On this page, there was a picture of the same field. Only this time, he was much closer to the field. He could see the grasses much clearer now, and could almost make out every blade of it. He could see the seeds on the tips. He could see some of the rocks on the close end of the dirt path. And he could see the girl and the dog better now too. They were closer now, a little further down the path.
And he could still see that dog's tail wag. Every so often it looked like his tail moved. The dog's tongue was hanging out of his mouth, too. Could he see the dog actually panting?
The boy turned the page.
Here was another picture of the field. In this view he was practically standing on the path too. He could almost feel the rough and bumpy dirt under his feet. He was very close to the girl and her dog now. He could see the details on her shirt, and the different colors of the dog's fur.
The boy could hear the footsteps of the girl and her dog coming closer. He could hear the dog panting, and he could see the tail wagging. He saw the girl smile at him.
The boy turned the page.
There was the dog, right up close, with its nose practically coming out of the book. And then, all at once, the dog poked his head up out of the book and planted a big dog lick on the boy's face.
This surprised the boy so much he jumped right in the chair. The book fell from his lap, onto the floor, the cover closing on it with a thud. *thud*
"Everything okay down there, boy?"
"Yes, Grandpa. Everything's fine."
"Okay. I'll be right down with your Iced Tea."
The boy slid off the chair, picked up the heavy book, and walked it back to it's place on the bookshelf. Just as he finished sliding the book back into place, his Grandpa came into the room.
"Here you are, son," Grandpa said, handing the boy his tea. "So what would you like to do this afternoon?"
The boy smiled. "Maybe we can sit and read for a while?"
"Sure thing. Sounds good to me."
And that's what they did. They sat together in the Grandpa chair, sipping Iced Tea and reading for the rest of the afternoon. It was a great day.

The End.

OK, so it lacks a little flourish at the end, but by this time, the kid is so tired it doesn't matter. What makes the telling of this story fun, is that I change parts of it every time so it is interesting and just engaging enough that it doesn't get stale.
I change the different stores that the boy rides past each telling.
I change the drink that the Grandpa makes once every 7 days or so, but it is otherwise always Iced Tea. This is fun, because my daughter always protests -- "it's supposed to be Iced Tea, Daddy!" "Oh is it?" I coyly ask.
I always change the contents of the book. What ends up in the pictures of the Magic Book is different each time I read it. And that way I don't have to spend a lot of time discovering a new story each night. The plot is always the same, the beginning and the ending I can recite, and by the time I get there, I usually have decided what's in the Magic Book. We are at the point now, in my family, where the kids tell me what's in the Magic Book before we even start the story. They pick it out and want to hear me describe it to them.
It puts them right out, however I tell it.