Welcome to Narnia

This evening, I had the great pleasure of introducing our children to some of my most cherished literary characters. We met the Pevensies, and traveled with them for the very first time to a magical country called Narnia.

Oh, my heart. They sat and listened. Isaac's attention wandered, but then he's only three. Mikayla, on the other hand, has never been so transfixed as she was by this story! I wasn't sure how we would all fare in the great big world of chapter books, but as each chapter ended, she begged for the next. She didn't want to stop for dinner, didn't want to stop for bed. As we closed the book at bedtime, I promised that we will read a few more chapters tomorrow - especially since it's supposed to rain. "The perfect kind of day for sitting together and reading!" I said. She tried to sound nonchalant as she responded, "Or, we could just read all the rest of it." That's my girl.

Have you ever mourned, in a bittersweet sort of way, that you can't go back to your childhood and re-experience certain things for the first time? I sometimes have that feeling at the end of a great book even now, or after finishing a movie with a mind-boggling plot twist. Reading a favorite book to a child - particularly my own child, my first-born who is more like me than I ever dreamed possible - is so much like reliving my own first reading of the Narniad.

The awe of finding snow and trees inside a big cupboard. The oddity of meeting a little Faun - and what is a Faun, anyway? Part man and part goat, so funny! The ferocity of the White Witch - the Queen of Narnia? - and Edmund's eating too much Turkish Delight. The mom in me secretly applauded Lewis for mentioning Edmund's tummy ache from over-indulging on sweets. See, Mikayla? I didn't make that up! But the child in me, that true kernel of self that never ages, only is - that part of me blossomed in the sheer pleasure of seeing in my daughter a near-perfect reflection of my own delight. I have never felt so deeply happy with her, nor so closely identified with her. As we turned old, familiar pages, the magic and the bliss of the experience was palpable to me.

One of these nights, I'll find her curled under the covers with a book and a flashlight. And I'm sure I'll scold her and tell her to go to sleep. But I'll be hiding a smile, and deep down, I'll understand that you can take the book out of the child's hands for a time, but you can't take the child out of the book. Sweet dreams, my daughter, sweet dreams. And welcome to Narnia!