In 1986, my grandparents gave me a book of children's poetry for Christmas. I remember vividly sitting in my pajamas with my sister and mom before bed as she read us some of the most hilarious, nonsensical poems I had ever heard. This continued for many years and the beloved book was even pulled out periodically into my teenage years. But that was the last I saw of it...
Our favorite poem by far was called Too Many Daves, a story of a woman with 23 sons whom she had named all Dave. She daydreams of what she should have named them instead and the new roll call is where the laughter is sure to begin.
As I was tucking Sofia in one night while we were back in Michigan, I looked over at the stack of books in the room and noticed the book of poems. My mom had found it while cleaning the basement and it was now mine to take home with me. Woo hoo!
So, tonight, I read Too Many Daves to Sofia. I giggled as I read but she was mostly impressed with the fact that some lady had 23 kids. Oh well. Even though she didn't quite get it, I was glad to be able to share something so memorable from my childhood with her.
And for this, I am thankful.