I had just sat down after putting the two smaller kids to bed and my husband and I were about to submit to a deluge of prime time television beginnig with House.
I was about three bites into my chocolate chip ice cream which, at the moment, had the perfect amount of melted-ness to create a creamy shallow pool for the two medium sized scoops. I had a small throw blanket stuffed behind my feet which also covered my knees and kept me toasty amid the dew covered ice cream bowl.
Three minutes into House and my bowl of heaven, my daughter, who turns 15 in ten days, walked up behind the couch where we are sitting, hit her knees at the back, draped her body over the top and flopped over so that her head landed inches from my dessert, and mentioned, "I'm ready for bed."
Almost every night, with the exception of my being sick, or falling asleep before she does, for 15 years, I have tucked my daughter into bed, covered her with the comforter, said prayers with her, plugged in her fan, turned on her night light, left her bedroom door ajar, and bid her a "good night, I love you."
This night was no different other than I was in no mood to leap from my comfort, coziness, and chocolate chip ice cream, to put her in bed. I thought to myself, "Why can't she just say, 'good-night' and go to bed on her own? She is almost fifteen!"
Reluctantly, I removed myself from the couch, followed her to her room, and conducted the traditional bedtime routine that has been perfected from years of execution.
The next morning I was listening to a man on Family Life Radio. He talked about sitting at his computer around midnight staring at the doors which once led to his sleeping children. The rooms were now empty and his children had since left for college and were now roommates with a stack of textbooks and a mini-fridge.
He recalled singing the same lullaby to each of his children at night before they fell asleep; one verse each of, Silent Night, Oh How He Loves You and Me.
At that moment, midnight, knowing that his two children were both sound asleep in a dorm rooms, he picked up his phone and texted, "Silent Night, Oh How He Loves You and Me...good night, Dad."
Both of his children immediately texted back, "Good night dad."
As I listened to that program I felt convicted. I realized the privilege I have in that my daughter still, after 15 years, wants her mom to tuck her into bed each night.