She performed these simple rituals each evening, between 7:30 and 8:00. Disconnect the phone, turn off the stereo, lay out clothing. Seldom was the television on. She pulled back the covers and turned on the reading lamp beside the bed. There were always books to read. Favorites that were read so many times, the binding was broken, the title unrecognizable, pages torn and mended with tape. The lines read so many times that reading the first two words of each sentence elicited the remainder by the child.

There was always a new book on the shelf that was checked out. The trip to the neighborhood library, followed by muffins and milk at the coffee shop down the street was another ritual every Saturday morning that took the place of cartoons and commercials for toys and breakfast cereal.

The ritual continues. After the bedtime snack comes washing the face, brushing the teeth and the last trip to the toilet. She sat patiently by the bed waiting. No thought to the day at work, nor to the dishes and the laundry and the bills that need to be paid, nor to the upcoming weekend events. Emerging from the bathroom, she looked upon the child's face, hair on the forehead slightly damp with residual soap and water. She marveled at that face every night. The straight blonde hair, narrow eyes, chubby cheeks and small nose, the thin upper lip that virtually disappeared with the smile.

The face resembled her own in every respect.

"What should we read tonight, Mom?"

"Whatever you want sweetheart."

"I want to read this one again."

And so it was, night after night, she essentially disconnected herself from the world for 30 minutes, mother and child sharing the moment without concern of the past or the future. And for 30 minutes each night, she transformed herself into a child.

Connect with your child. Disconnect from the world each night. Read. Talk. Laugh. Discover your child and rediscover the child in you.