Reading Winnie the Pooh while Lillian falls asleep in my lap for her morning nap, there is no greater feeling. Light symphonic music playing, the intermittent clamor of outside goings-on, her breath getting deeper and deeper and she is eventually gone from the story - gone from me and into that special restful place where she backs up and stores all we've done for the morning.
I am thankful for my life. I have always tried to appreciate what wonderful things I've been given, but sometimes, I am swept away by the immensity of it.
And, I am thankful for Pooh. How did I never read this book when I was little? How is this my first time with the story? It is so quiet, thoughtful, egocentrically perfect for two or three-year-olds.
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