Thinking too Much

         Around 7:45 Kenna and Cole begin their nightly ritual of bath and bedtime.  "I went first last night,"  Kenna proclaims shortly after Daddy announces, "Bathtime!"
         Within seconds Cole joins the conversation with, "No, I went first last night!"
         Sighing I walk down the hallway with both kids groaning the whole way.  I wonder why they fight their bath so much.  Their baths mean 100% of Mommy and Daddy.  No distractions.  They take turns in the tub while the one waiting plays with Daddy or Mommy, wrestling, tickling, and giggling.  Maybe it's the fact that bedtime is getting closer, but even then they each get to choose a few books and spend the next half hour or so, reading, chatting, and snuggling.
          I guess I groan a little when we start bath time too.  I have a hundred other things to do, catch up on my facebook, my twitter, read some of my professional books, plan my lessons, do the laundry, clean up after supper, make the lunches, and on and on.  Then I wonder why I groan, when bath time means 100% of Kenna and Cole.  No distractions.  With this ironic realization in mind, I walk to Cole's bedroom for his story time.  I purposely push every thought from my mind - except the thought of my son and enjoying books with him.  Why does that always seem so hard when I love my kids so?
          In his room Cole scours his book rack, searching for that favorite book.  Watching him, I silently hope that he picks one of my favorites.  His small fingers riffle through book after book.  "Mama, where's The Napping House?"
           I smile because he chose a favorite of mine!  I pull The Napping House from behind the tall "Search and Find" Wall-e book, and bounce onto his tall mattress.  Cole begins his climb up into his bed.  I grab him up with a hug, and smooth the blankets up over him.  Then, we read.  As I read, he fills in the missing words that he knows by heart.  He interjects often with his observations of the illustrations.  "Mama, look the animals are on the floor before they crawl on the Napping Bed."  "Mama, look the flea -it's getting closer to the bed on each page."  "Mama, look that's where the bed breaks.  See that crack in the leg?"
           As he shares, and I push him to let me finish reading, my mind clears.  It's not a struggle to keep it clear.  I can't think of anything else, only of my son and this book.  When the book ends, I groan.  I groan because I know that reality is getting closer, and soon my mind will again be clogged up with all the other stuff again.