We are nestled on the couch in the dark, my girl and I. The curtains are drawn as we sit down to read in the evening, our book illuminated by a little black book light. I have just come out from cozily putting our wee one to sleep after reading with him. Evening reading time has been consistently my favorite part of the day for the past six years. This is my happy place. There is a sense of other-worldliness in this gentle moment; we are transported not only in story but also in heart. No matter what kind of a day we have had, we are at this tranquil moment, completely at peace. I treasure this time every single night as I snuggle with my babies. This reading rhythm of ours is more than six years in the making. It has grown and evolved along with the kids.

Only-kid infant reading. We started with infant reading time – this was when our daughter was the only child in the house. I read out loud as the little one gently dozed off to sleep as she nursed. We read a tattered book which has been in my family for thirty years. It’s a Russian language compilation of three complete works – The Jungle Book (Rudyard Kipling), Winnie the Pooh (A.A. Milne), and Karlson on the Roof (Astrid Lindgren) – to be completely honest, The Jungle Book (this is the translation from the original, not the Disney version) never captured my heart, but the latter two books are quintessentially childhood to me. The sweet vanillin mustiness of this book brings me back to my childhood. If I close my eyes, and gently flip through the pages (for gently is the only way to go with this particular tome) – there I am, seven years old and sitting on my bed while my beloved grandfather reads to me. Everything comes back, his small gestures, the careful manner in which he turned the pages (of the book which he had repaired at least once), the slight clearing of his throat, the gentle rub of his chin. That sweet old book smell, if you could bottle the smell of nostalgia, this would be it. This beautiful book has been read, chewed, torn, ripped, taped, glued, and, above all else, loved for decades. And here it was again, bringing unimaginable sweetness to myself and my new baby. What a tranquil time that was. What a beautiful beginning this book brought to my daughter’s journey into reading. There we laid for months; me, my daughter, and our book.

Only-kid picture book reading. A bit later, we welcomed picture book bedtime reading with open arms. We read as many books as possible before my little listener fell asleep by my side. Next, came a long stretch of “Just one more book, please!” – I caved about 80% of the time and if I had a chance to go back, I would have read that extra book every single night. We read like this, just the two of us, until I had to roll out of my daughter’s tiny bed while pregnant with our son.

The walk and read. After the birth of our second child, for the better part of a year, I wore the little one in a sling as I walked around the room, reading to both children. At this point, we switched to long chapter books because they were much easier to carry while I was walking and reading around my daughter’s room. This was a dizzying time in more ways than one, but I cherished every fleeting second. And so it happened that my son’s first books were magical stories of fairy realms, children’s historical fiction, and endearing anthropomorphic tales of kindness within the animal kingdom. We walked, read, dozed, and listened to the tales with bright-eyed bewilderment.

The dual-kid/one bed. We progressed to snuggling in bed together, the kids and I, before falling asleep. This worked beautifully. I read, the little one fell asleep and I continued reading to my older listener. It was perfect. I was dreaming about this being our routine until the kids are completely grown. I would just always read to both kids simultaneously and I didn’t even have to walk around a room while reading to do this! Pictures flashed in my head of reading Harry Potter to both kids when they are a bit older. Wow! I could not wait for us to lay in bed together like this and read together for years and years to come. And then, utter chaos ensued. Our peace and tranquility turned to children jumping on the bed, throwing pillows around, and getting distressed about who’s book choice should be read first. Clearly, this was no longer working. If there is one thing that we have realized as parents it is that you have to consistently be ready and willing to accept and develop a new rhythm. Whatever works for you right now has absolutely no guarantee of working in the future. We once again had to reassess our strategy.

The 1 – 2 switch. Finally (for now), here we are, at our current perfect situation. I read with the little one. He tells me about his favorite animals – it may appear that he is just wildly shoving books about pandas in my face, but so much is happening at this very moment. He is excited to show me every bird or lizard he can find on the pages, he is so very happy to share all that he knows with me, and to make comparisons between his world and the world in the books. How lucky I am that I get to be the person who shares in his excitement (and I selfishly do not plan on relinquishing this role anytime in the near future). During the day, this wonderful kid is climbing on everything, he’s all over the place in the most enthusiastic and exhausting way possible; projectiles are constantly being flown through the house, our foster tadpoles are almost knocked onto the carpet on a frequent basis, and loving signs of affection turn into pushing, tugging craziness. But here we are, calmly reading together after an entire day of chasing him off of table tops. We have a chance to peacefully enjoy one another. At this very moment, it’s just the two of us in this world and we are doing so much more than reading.

After we read and the little one falls asleep, I venture out to read with my daughter. By this point, she has been reading aloud for thirty minutes with Papa. Together we pick out what I will read aloud and we quickly run to the couch and grab our blanket and our booklight. She gets in the crook of my arm and we read. At six-years-old, this little girl is energetically constructing all kinds of elaborate situations during the day. Her brain is going faster than the speed of light. We’re constantly either searching for dinosaurs on walks, training to be superheroes, or playing the roles of so many other numerous characters that it’s difficult to keep track. When it was just the two of us at home all day together, we would read for hours, but with a toddler in the house we haven’t quite been able to keep that up. This is our special time, our quiet time to reconnect, to erase any hostility that may have transpired throughout the day, dilute any frivolous arguments, dissolve any issues of not listening or not hearing one another during the active hours of the day. At this very moment, it’s just the two of us in this world and we are doing so much more than reading.

So much has changed about our bedtime reading rhythm, but there is one constant. It still remains a time that holds a magical quality. Our reading time erases the day’s woes. All of a sudden, after a completely rambunctious, fit-frenzied, frazzling day we come together and, in a beautiful stillness, share a story. We are transported to completely different worlds. We have an opportunity to enjoy a piece of magic together. We share our hopes for the coming days. These are the only moments of real stillness in the day. These are the moments to hold onto dearly and look back on fondly as our reading rhythm continuously revolutionizes itself. I cannot wait to see what comes next in this reading journey, but we welcome whatever it is with open arms.

Check out the science behind the smell of nostalgia.