When my children were small, I was the one who put them to bed. I did so with a lullaby I had invented for them.
The lullaby:
One, Two, Three
It’s time to say goodnight.
One, Two, Three
It’s time to say goodnight.
Goodnight to the stars, and goodnight to the moon.
Goodnight to <<child’s name>>
And I love you.
To save a little face, I will not sing it for you.
The kids adored this song. Even if I was tired at the end of the day, and just wanted them to go sleep they demanded it, usually loudly.
I would start bedtime with silly versions of the song, pantomiming being a rockstar, a big-band leader, or a lounge singer while I sung. I embraced every opportunity to be the ham.
But it always ended up flowing into a slow, sleepy, cuddly version that allowed my kids to fall asleep gently.
My wife created a photo book with the lullaby lyrics printed in it. Photos of my kids pushing their hands together and ‘sleeping’, pointing to paper stars, a paper moon, and eventually pointing to the camera for ‘I love you.’
That book is the most important one I have.
Fast-forward to the present. Specifically mid-August 2023.
My oldest prepped the bulk of her belongings into boxes. Her plan is to study health and biology at Washington State University. 300 miles away.
We travelled to Pullman on Saturday, her move-in day, and unloaded her into her dorm. At the hotel that evening, I had an idea.
I called my voicemail, and pressed ‘2’ to send a message.
I recorded myself singing the old lullaby, saying goodnight to my daughter, and subsequently sent the message to her.
The next day while dropping her at her dorm, I asked “Did you get my voicemail?”
“What’s a voicemail?”
I have taught her many things in my life: how to drive, how to hit a softball.
I got to teach her one more thing before I left, how to check her voicemail.
And specifically how to save a voicemail. To play it later. Should she need it.
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