My little bottom fit perfectly in the nest of my mother's "Indian-style" crossed legs as I plopped down, book in hand.

"Read me this one, Momma."

She would wrap her soft arms around me as I nestled in deeper to her warm, motherly smell: a combination of Nivea lotion, the tear-free shampoo she'd rubbed into my hair at bath time, and some unnamed scent that I've only ever been able to pinpoint as "Mom's smell."

When we were all settled and cozy, she would start by showing me the glossy blue cover and start, as every book should, with the title and the author: "Love You Forever," she would read, "written by Robert Munsch; illustrated by Sheila McGraw."

I'm not sure I ever really cared too much about the title and author of the book, but it was tradition; it set the mood of story time. (And I always liked to get a good look at the cover.)

And then she would read. One of my most distinct memories from childhood is listening to my mother read; without too much effort, I can still hear exactly how she would read this book to me. Her voice was motherly. There's no other description that fits how her voice would lilt and caress the words and saturate them with love: just motherly.

As the mother in that book rocked her son "back and forth, back and forth, back and forth," my mother, cradling me, would rock side to side. And the words "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be" were not just part of the story; my mother was sing-songing them to me too.

In my small way, I knew that I could drive my mom "CRAZY" the same as the little boy in the book did, but I would just laugh at the picture of him flushing his mom's watch down the toilet: "I wouldn't flush your watch down the toilet, Momma!"

"No, of course not, baby," she would tell me, and then kiss me on the top of my head.

My momma would tear up sometimes at the end of that book. I never fully understood why, but I knew I made her feel better in the end when I would turn around and give her the tightest squeeze my little arms could give.

I don't know when I first gained full comprehension of that story. I'm sure it was just one day after I grew and I grew and I grew that I browsed our bookshelf, ruffling through the memories associated with all the titles. I'm sure I saw the blue binding of Love You Forever and the "I love Mom" heart string was plucked. I can see myself picking it up and unconsciously swaying back and forth while reading:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.

And my mind would shift, as it has every time that I've read that book since, to my momma holding her baby girl, holding her little girl, holding her teenage girl, and holding this young woman in her arms and loving me in her motherly way and this time it was me whose eyes were welling up with tears.

Learn more about this author, Karen M Krueger.
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