Whispers of songs

He was having trouble settling down as he always does every other Sunday night, long after he's normally sprawled out and deeply asleep. It's probably a mixture of settling back into his bed at our house and being tired from his time away. We're both used to that dance on those Sundays, with me singing extra songs, tucking him in after multiple trips to the bathroom, many more promises that he's safe sleeping alone in his room.

He fidgeted through eleven lullabies and then on number twelve, I finally felt his body calm and the tension in the whole room ease. Just when I thought he was there, asleep enough for me to slip out of the room and let him be, he turned his head to me. His eyelids were heavy and his voice sounded drowsy, but his whispers filled the bedroom.

"Mommy...." he said, first patting the arm I had wrapped around him, then leaning up to kiss it, "Mommyy...you just sing...so...good."

He kissed my arm three more times, curled back up and gave in to the sleep at last.

I smiled. Yes, it was sweet. No, it is not true.

A million years ago, I sang soprano with the other high schoolers in a vocal group at church. Long before that, I was even in Chicago Childrens Choir. My voice these days is nowhere near that. I try to stay on key and sometimes I even work to sing those lullabies with some polish and shine. But in the dark and late hours with a sleep-resistant child, there's no quality to my instrument left.

So it made me laugh that this was his final message to me after all that, before sleep. I took that compliment, though, and I held it close. I want him to think that. I want him to hear that. Maybe it's exactly enough that what he's picking up is the sentiment, the intention, the hope that he will just rest over the proper tone and breath control. Regardless of what it is he hears, I'll take those whispers. And then I will take the silence and stillness and sleep.

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On the last day of kindergarten

He was standing at the front of the classroom with the other students, singing a song about summer vacation, throwing his hands in the air and reciting lyrics I'd never heard before. It was the last few minutes of kindergarten, and my boy and his classmates were singing about what is next. The words did not say what feels so close -- first grade.

But that's not the moment that got to me. It was brief and I caught it just before hitting record on the video. Lil E was sitting in the second row, a boy who sat at the same table for much of the year was seated next to him. Just as they did when the class was standing and singing their opening song, the boys were holding hands.

Lil E's friend said something to him quietly, Lil E looked over warmly and then threw his head back and laughed. It was such a buddy moment and I was so struck by that, by these kids making their way through kindergarten and this class all on their own. I felt a surge of pride. Love. Wonder.

That's when I teared up. And that's when I thought of this book.

It's a book I read and read  and read as a little girl. It's about a child who sees a picture of a baby and looks in every corner of the house for her. In the end, of course, she finds out that the baby has grown into a girl, that the baby is her. I loved this book. I loved the swirl in the girl's blond, wispy hair. I loved the sweet Eloise Wilkin illustration of her peeking in the laundry basket, tucked in the closet. I loved the photo of the baby with the same big blue eyes and pouty cheeks as the girl in the story. I just didn't get why my mom teared up when we read it, why it reminded her so much of me.

Today, I saw my own boy -- the one who explored every bit of this classroom, who discovered how exciting it is to read whole chapters and books, who loves to write and draw, who learned to tell time and count money, who slowly but surely ties his own shoes, who learned to stand up to other kids and even did some stand-up of his own in the talent show -- just like my mom saw me as I read that book.

Holding hands with his friend, singing his song, accepting his certificate of accomplishment, he looked big, he seemed so much older, he was clearly very Lil E. I was...I was just so in awe of seeing him so fully himself. That baby is lanky and taller and defiant about what clothes to wear and still looks exactly like that infant in the photos all over our house.

First grade...FIRST GRADE! I can't believe it is here. But that's where my baby is going, after one long summer that I am sure, like every other place we've searched, will seem very, very short.

Look back:
The first day of kindergarten

The day he turned six

When he suddenly seemed seventeen

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Cherry Ames: single, sultry, do-gooder working lady

I was digging through a box of old books at a garage sale last weekend when I spied this one, Cherry Ames: Dude Ranch Nurse. I know you won't be surprised that the name "Cherry" jumped out at me as quickly as that "oh, yeah, cowboy, I am indeed a bad lady all buttoned up in this stifling nurse's uniform" in her eye.I set it aside.

What in the world was this Cherry lady was doing dressed in white on a dude ranch with a Ken Doll cowboy? I needed to know. It looks a little raunchy, and I'll be very honest -- sometimes the old-fashioned way is still good stuff, even when it is published in 1953. Or at least that is what I thought until my mom wandered over, also caught site of Cherry Ames and her dude ranch suiter and squealed.

"I read almost all of those growing up! I loved Cherry Ames books!"

That's when the jacket got a little dustier.

"Wait...what?" I was confused. When she was growing up?

"Oh yeah," my mom explained, "Cherry Ames was a series of mystery books for girls. I read almost all of them growing up."

I put the book back. It was overpriced anyway. I didn't need overpriced and under-sexed. Nor did I need young adult literature from the '40s.

But when I looked into the adventures of Cherry Ames online, I found that she was a little more suspect that my mother made her seem. Apparently created in an effort to make nursing appeal to girls during war time, the Cherry Ames character was guided into her career by a kindly older gentleman (uh-hmmm), job-hopped from 1948-1963 (I see), remained single throughout her good works, with the exception of a few short-lived beaux like one Dr. "Lex" Upham (which just sounds dirty).

Cherry, short for Charity, got around in her caretaking duties. As 27 titles penned by two authors indicate, Cherry was a Student Nurse, Senior Nurse, Army Nurse, Chief Nurse, Veterans' Nurse, Flight Nurse, Camp Nurse, and Rural Nurse. She had some lapses in her ambition,  plateauing a bit as Rest Home Nurse, Staff Nurse, Clinic Nurse, Companion Nurse and the confusing Department Store Nurse ("Help! Someone! My finger's been caught in the old-timey cash register! It won't stop dinging!"). To her credit, Cherry did have some wilder times as Jungle Nurse, Boarding School Nurse, Ski Nurse, Mountaineer Nurse, Cruise Nurse, Private Duty Nurse, Island Nurse, Night Supervisor and of course, during The Mystery in the Doctor's Office.

I wonder how many girls were inspired to grow up and become nurses due to hours spent curled up in a window seat reading Cherry Ames books, only to be deeply disappointed to learn no one would need them to figure out where the missing Oxycotin went or why Nice Mr. Hypochondriac died of a fake disease. I wonder if they looked at those covers the way I did and assumed they could lead risque lives of intrigue and neatly pressed uniforms and swarthy temporary boyfriends with names like (ahem) Lex. I wonder how many of them ended up hating poor Cherry, who seemingly never lived anywhere for long and for whom trouble and suspense seemed to follow her sensible, no-squeak white leather lace-ups.

Regardless of whether she was pure as her come-hither smile or more savvy than "The Medium", I love that Cherry Ames existed for girls. I read that proceeds from the books helped fund nursing scholarships. There were spin-offs, including a board game inspired by these global nursing adventures. Best of all, Cherry Ames duped criminals and stepped in where men and her superiors (probably also men) failed, and probably showed girls that women are complex, cunning, ambitious, and...hey, who knows?...maybe raunchier than what's in print.

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