Little Pea

0

There is something special about a well-worn children’s book. Tonight, my youngest daughter chose one of these for me to read to her and her sister before bed. She tossed it onto her bed on the bottom bunk. I saw the familiar robins egg blue cover peeking out from under a blanket and recognized it right away. Peekaboo Bunny was a book my oldest chose almost nightly for about a year after her sister was born. She had to lift every flap exposing bunny and his friends. Even though she knew where these critters hid; behind a cushion on the couch, a laundry basket and a closet. The flaps were frayed where little fingers struggled to open them night after night. Now, they were perfectly worn so that there was no longer a struggle to expose the players of the story. Finding bunny’s friends is now effortless. I love this. I love that my children have enjoyed a book so much that it looks weathered and worn and frayed in all the right places.

Sometimes a book like that will make my heart ache when I read it to them. As I read the words I am transported back to that time and place where it was first loved. I can see myself in my glider with the moss green chenille pillows that now sit in my closet. They have breast milk stains that will never be washed. There is a baby in my lap, nursing and flipping the pages at the same time. We are surrounded by the warm golden glow of the light in the room and we hear the Cold Play lullaby songs playing softly on the radio. We are warm and sometimes I drift off while I read this book to her, this book that now summons a longing in me that will never be filled. I long to feel her soft curls between my fingers again, to smell her clean baby scent and to hold her in those cotton footed pajamas again. The perfectly snug fitting, soft cotton pj’s that hugged my baby’s warm little body in such a way that when I held her in them I felt safe.

IMG_1010

Little Pea is just this sort of book. It’s a book that makes my heart ache. I ache for the years that have gone by too fast and for the ones that were lost to me when my marriage was unraveling. When I read this book that has a spine that bends revealing the glue holding the pages together I am hit with guilt that almost knocks the wind out of me, like a kick in the stomach. In a moment I am back at the Field Road house sitting at our big custom made farm table feeding my oldest baby dinner. The wood was reclaimed and had lots of crevices and grooves that trapped food like yogurt and rice. I never cleaned them out. Because bedtime was near and waves of relief that I could rest were upon me, reading Little Pea was a pleasure. This wasn’t my favorite book to read to her, I would have much rather read The Little House or The Little Red Hen. Classics from my own childhood that now reside in the bookcase alongside many other books that have joined our family through the years.

They now rest in a pile face up with Peekaboo Bunny and Little Pea. I keep meaning to put these someplace safe. Maybe I’ll store them with our very first copy of Goodnight Moon that has all but fallen apart. Little Pea has small bits of food trapped on the pages, and just like the milk stains and crusted yogurt that will never be cleaned, they will never be picked off. The tiny broccoli florets will forever remain stuck to the pages like perfectly pressed little flowers.

Can you relate? Please share in the comments below!

 

 

 

 

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here