How many stories do you suppose we have read or heard that began with those words — Once Upon A Time?

There is a special time that Cheyenne and I have been sharing this week.  It can be challenging to coordinate, referee, and guide the shared interactions of a 3 1/2-year-old and a 2 1/2-year-old at the same time.  Although they are close enough in age to enjoy each other’s company, there is a certain finesse about being a year older that sometimes escapes one’s little sister.  In spite of it all, we have managed to have a lot of fun playing, sharing, and pretending this week.

My special time with Cheyenne comes at the beginning of naptime.  As you might imagine, when two little girls sleep in bunk beds, putting them to bed for afternoon naps does not lead to sleep if they both go in at the same time.  The routine their mom has established is for little Harper to be tucked in first.  Ten minutes later, when she has fallen asleep,  Cheyenne is reliable enough not to wake her sister.  With a staggered start, the princesses are guaranteed a bit of beauty sleep to carry them through until bedtime.  The ten minutes Cheyenne and I spend alone have become our special time, and the centerpiece of our fun is a pop-up  word book featuring two teddy bears.

The book has sat on the shelf since the girls received it as a gift, largely due to the fact that two toddlers + one pop-up = no book at all.  On the other hand, one 3 1/2 year old princess + one grandma = endless possibilities.  The first time we read the book, Cheyenne dutifully named all the objects pictured there — with the possible exception of a “hot water bottle.”  No matter how often we read this book, I continue to wonder why that particular object was chosen from the millions of possibilities that existed.  We finished the word identification and I checked on Harper.  She still was stirring, so we had a few more minutes to read.  I opened the book to the first page and began to tell a story about breakfast in the bear house.  ”One fine morning, Mother Bear decided to cook breakfast for her little bear.  He sat in his blue high chair and ate the yummy egg his mother had made for him…”  Chey listened intently until I finished.  We turned the page.  ”Okay,” I said, “it’s your turn.”  Chey began:  ”Once a buncha times…” and went on to tell the story of the bears trip to the garden to ride on the swing.

“Once a buncha times.”  How wonderful is that?  I got to thinking that it might be a far better beginning to the stories of childhood since I have not yet met the child who is satisfied with reading them only once.  It takes a bunch of times for a good story to sink in and become a favorite.  Cheyenne and I alternated pages until, at last, I came full circle and told the story of Mother Bear tucking her baby into bed.  Baby Bear lay in his top bunk — just like Cheyenne’s — and read his favorite story by the light of his reading lamp.  ”Be sure to turn off your light when you finish the last page,” advised Mother Bear as she sipped her warm milk and then headed off to sleep.

I closed the book.  ”The End,” I proclaimed as I handed it to my granddaughter.  ”That was a good story,” I told her as we shared a high-five.  ”No, Grandma,” Chey responded, “that was a great story.”

She was absolutely right.