Here’s my take on Bedtime stories. When my girls were little, and there were nights when they’d refuse to have a shut eye. I’d read a compendium of Winnie the Pooh tales or anything that was trending in the kids’ world. I’d read, fall asleep, drawl the last couple of lines, get woken up by a loud indignant “Amma” or a nudge in my ribs. This would go on for what seemed like an eternity. And then, I devised a method that would have made Dr Benjamin Spock weep hopelessly and Stephen King applaud. Mareecha, Shubahu, Tataka, Ravana, Shurpanaka, were hiding within the built in closets along the walls of the bedroom, waiting to pounce on anyone who refused to sleep. I took my tales a step further. Strict aunts, teachers, flew outside the bedroom window, emulating the Vampires of Salem’s Lot.
Everyone was snoring in minutes.
Today, the girls seem to have it all together except for the occasional tiptoeing into my bedroom and asking to get into bed with me and my hubby.
Well, they are, after all, only 25 and 20.
Oh alright then, these twisted tales may have twisted them, ever so lightly.
Bavani’s Happy Place 