Why I Love My Husband for Reading at Bedtime

We’re nine years into marriage, and five into parenthood. My husband’s wearing a straw cowboy hat from his dress-up collection and reading to our daughters in a squeaky princess voice. They’re giggling madly. (So am I, and I’m lying on the couch in the living room.)

Jeff started reading to our kids enthusiastically as soon as they could sit in his lap. Well, the youngest sat on his lap; the oldest preferred moving around. She’d listen while performing Cirque du Soleil-ish contortions on the floor.

Together they’ve been through so many adventures. Through books, my husband introduced my girls to mice who helped them master the potty and dinosaurs who taught them manners. They’ve shared in the exploits of dog-stealing siblings and goblin-attacking Rainbow Fairies.

Jeff picks a favorite book. “Go ahead, quiz me,” he grins. “I can recite Chickens to the Rescue from memory.” Meanwhile, our girls peruse their options from the basket of library books we have and shelf of books we own. Our book-selection ritual takes too long, but it’s very important. Each girl chooses what she likes to read. Three books. Three readers. It works.

My youngest daughter, a toddler clad in penguin pajamas, stretches out on top of Jeff’s back, her hair still wet from the bath. Jeff lies on his stomach reading out loud. She looks over his shoulder at the pictures. This is their new favorite book — fresh from the library’s summer-reading program — called Serious Farm. Her sister listens a few feet away. Tonight she’s in an upside-down wheelbarrow position. (I think she takes after her dad with the wiggles.) If the girls are lucky, daddy will tell them a “silly story” after reading their books — often a mash-up of a story they just read. (My personal favorite is “Cindersmella and the Stinky Chickens.”)

I’m his biggest fan. Is there anything sexier than this guy, I wonder? A dad who drops everything at night to spend quality time with his kids?

Eight years pass, and the picture books turn into a shared chapter book. The kids might be older and taller now, but they are just as interested in bedtime stories as they were when they were little. These days, they’ll often color while Jeff reads a few chapters, or they’ll arrange LEGOs or just lie next to him and stare at the ceiling. That is, until I hear their irritated voices: “Daaaad. Wake up! You stopped reading again!”

I laugh. When he’s tired, Jeff can fall asleep in the middle of a sentence — a special dad skill I know my kids and I will never forget. (We won’t let him forget, either.)

Each year, the time with our kids flies more swiftly. Busy schedules intervene and quality moments with them become increasingly rare. This is especially true for their dad — and, I suspect, many dads. I’m beyond grateful that my husband is able to set aside time every evening — to put down the phone, no distractions allowed — and be fully present for our kids, all three focused on the same book, exploring the same story together. Of course, I love that I get a break. But I love even more that my kids get this precious time with their dad.

I’ve seen over the years how this strengthens their relationship. “It may sound clichéd,” my husband explains when I ask why he reads to our children. “But I’ve always believed you spell love T-I-M-E. That’s why I drop everything at bedtime so I can read to them.”

His motivation is altruistic. It’s a gift for the kids, one they’ll appreciate even more when they’re adults. Watching them share stories, I agree that this is love. Time. Reading. Together.