Once upon a time, in a big green forest, there was a cozy little cabin. Seven friends were there, all wearing their funny underwear! They had a campfire, seven sleeping mats, and seven pillows to rest their heads.
Each friend had a flashlight, and they loved roasting marshmallows on sticks. There was even a bear in underwear who could do tricks! They said good night to pillow fights and mosquito bites. Ouch! Then, they all snuggled in tight, ready for a quiet night.
But the forest was full of sounds! Owls hooted, mice scurried by, and there was a frog in Bear’s sack. Suddenly, it started to rain with thunder and lightning! The friends ran to the dry cabin, safe from the storm.
On a warm night, the moon was high, and the stars were bright. Daddy said it was a firefly night! I ran outside, feeling the grass tickle my toes. I caught fireflies in a jar, and they lit up like tiny stars!
Fireflies are special beetles that glow in the dark. They live near water and help farmers by eating pests. There are over 2,000 kinds of fireflies!
When the sun comes up, it’s time to say good morning! Good morning to the sun, the hills, the birds, and the bees. Good morning to the garden, the trees, and everything we see!
But soon, it’s time to say good night again. Good night to the trucks, the cars, and the stars. Good night to the grass, the trees, and the bees. Sleep tight, everyone!
If you ever meet a monster, don’t be scared! You can tell them how to behave. If a monster is noisy, whisper, “Be quiet.” If it’s messy, say, “Clean up.” And if it’s tired, send it to bed with a “Good night!”
When you were born, I was so happy! You are my special treasure, and I love every part of you. From your tiny toes to your sweet smile, you are the one made just for me.
As you grow, you explore the world with wonder. You play, laugh, and learn new things every day. And no matter what, you are always loved.
Once, there was a boy who found a special stick. With it, he could imagine being anything—a pirate, a knight, or a baseball player! The stick had words that said, “Imagination lives in you.”
As the boy grew up, he became everything he dreamed of. And one day, he left the stick for a little girl to find. She picked it up and imagined being a princess, a surfer, and more!
In the forest, little Red the fox and Hazel the dormouse loved playing together. But when winter came, Hazel had to sleep. Little Red wished they could play forever, but they promised to meet again in spring.
Before Hazel fell asleep, little Red told a story. But soon, they both drifted off, dreaming of their next adventure.
Each season brings something special! In spring, flowers bloom, and birds sing. In summer, we play in the sun and catch fireflies. In fall, leaves crunch under our feet. And in winter, snowflakes fall, and we make snow angels.
Every season is a time for fun and new adventures!
Big Truck loved Little Truck with all its heart. Even when Little Truck made mistakes, Big Truck was always there with hugs and kisses. Love is like the stars—it never gets old or tired.
And no matter what, Big Truck promised to always be there for Little Truck, solving problems together, one by one.
Firefly Hunt: On a warm evening, go outside with your child and look for fireflies. If you have a safe area, let them try to catch a few in a jar (with holes in the lid). Talk about how fireflies light up and why they might do that. Ask your child, “What do you think the fireflies are saying with their lights?” Encourage them to imagine a story about the fireflies’ adventures.
Imagination Stick: Find a stick in your backyard or local park and let your child decorate it with paint, stickers, or ribbons. Tell them it’s a magic stick that can turn them into anything they want. Ask them, “What will you become with your magic stick?” Encourage them to act out their chosen character, whether it’s a pirate, a princess, or something else entirely.
Seasonal Adventure: Take a walk outside and observe the current season. Collect items like leaves, flowers, or snowflakes (depending on the season). Discuss with your child what makes this season special. Ask them, “What is your favorite thing about this season?” and “What do you look forward to in the next season?” Use the collected items to create a seasonal collage or artwork.
Sure! Here’s a sanitized version of the transcript, with any inappropriate or confusing content removed or clarified:
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[Music]
Books bear in underwear. Good night. Underwear in a great green forest, there was a little cabin and a nice campsite with a campfire. There were seven friends in underwear and seven mats for sleeping, and seven pillows on the beds for seven friends to rest their heads.
[Music]
Ooh, and seven flashlights on the ground for seven friends circling around, and spray for ticks and marshmallows on sticks, and a bear in underwear good at tricks. Good night pillow fight, good night mosquito bites, ouch! Good night, friends. Good night, lights. Every friend is tucked in tight; it should be a quiet night.
Hello owls, hello doves, hello mice running by. Hello, bug in the eye. Hello, lump under Bear’s back. Hello, frog in Bear’s sack. Hello itches, hello twitches, hello dark shadows. And what’s that sound? Let’s make a run for it! Grab the stuff. Hello, scary thunder and rain pouring down. I’m soaked!
[Music]
Hello, dry cabin with friends together. Hello, safe from stormy weather. Good night glitches, good night twitches, and lots and lots of little itches. Good night Moon, good night raccoon, good night peepers, good night sleepers, good night little house, good night little mouse. Good night dimming light, good night nighttime frights.
Good night to the clothes drying on the line. Good night to an underwear-wearing bear. Good night, good night underwear.
[Music]
It’s a firefly night when the moon is high and the stars are bright. Daddy tells me it’s a firefly night. I hop off the porch; I feel the air warming my legs and messing my hair. Grass tickles my toes. I zip through the yard chasing fireflies. Gotcha! To put in my jar.
Fireflies shimmer—one, two, three, four, five! My jar is like a light bulb that’s just come alive. Fireflies glimmer; all of them glow. I race to show Daddy their dancing light show, flickering quicker, they sparkle and shine. I love catching fireflies, but they are not mine.
I take one gently out of the jar; my hand is a cage for one tiny star. Uncurling my hand easy and slow, I whisper goodbye, then I let it go. Soon many fireflies open their wings; they flitter and flutter, soar over my swings.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, drift through moonlight. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—one blink in the night. We walk back to the house; I hold Daddy’s hand tight. “Will tomorrow,” I ask, “be a firefly night?”
On hot summer days, fireflies rest in tall grass or on the leaves of plants and trees. They like to fly around between dusk and midnight when the air is damp and cool. Fireflies range in size from 1/5 to 1 inch in length. Although commonly called a firefly or lightning bug, this insect is really a beetle.
Fireflies need moist habitats; they are found around swampy and grassy areas, often at the edge of creeks, streams, and ponds. The firefly grows in stages from egg to larvae to adult insect. Some larvae give off light; when that happens, people call them glowworms.
Because they live only 3 to 4 weeks, most adult fireflies do not eat. A female firefly will lay up to 500 eggs on the underside of leaves, in moss, or in water. Scientists believe fireflies light up in rhythmic patterns to attract mates or to warn one another about dangers. Farmers and gardeners love fireflies because the larvae eat many snails, slugs, and other pests. There are over 2,000 firefly species.
[Music]
But first, we know let’s play. Okay, but first we have to nap.
[Music]
It’s time to say good night. Good morning to the sun, good morning to the hills, good morning to the chickies and the hen, good morning to the rooster, good morning to the cow, good morning to the piggies in the pen. Good morning to the grass, good morning to the trees, good morning to the birdies and the bees. Good morning to the garden, good morning to the Earth, good morning to the water and the seeds. Good morning to the plains, good morning to the buses, good morning to the taxis and the vans. Good morning to the trucks, good morning to the cars, good morning to the garbage and the cans.
Good morning, good morning to everything in sight. By the time I get through saying good morning, it’s time to say good night.
Good night to the trucks, good night to the cars, good night to the garbage and the cans. Good night to the plains, good night to the buses, good night to the taxis and the vans. Good night to the grass, good night to the trees, good night to the birdies and the bees. Good night to the garden, good night to the Earth, good night to the water and the seeds. Good night to the rooster, good night to the cow, good night to the piggies in the pen. Good night to the sun, good night to the hills, good night to the chickies and the hen.
Good night, good night. I don’t want to hear a peep. Good night, good night. It’s time to get some sleep.
Good night at the stroke of good night. A dreaming dog, a purring cat, a bird on a limb, a mouse on a mat. The evening glows in the twilight, and all is quiet at the stroke of good night.
A creak on the stair, a drip in the sink, a foot on the floor, a glass with a clink. Everything’s still, and everything’s right, and all is quiet at the stroke of good night.
A cunning raccoon, a squirrel on the lawn, the faint rustle of leaves from the doe and her fawn. A little bear cub bathes in moonlight, and all is quiet at the stroke of good night.
A calf in the barn, a sheep in her stall, a colt casts a shadow on the weathered wall. A hen warms her eggs; the rooster waits for first light, and all is quiet at the stroke of good night.
But where is baby with the colt or the cow with the fawn or the S on the tractor with a plow? There she is, a baby, a mommy-sized little one tucked in with dreams in her eyes. A gentle hand turns out the light, and all is quiet at the stroke of good night.
Monsters be good; don’t be scared. You are in charge of the monsters. If you tell them how to behave, they will listen. If a monster is noisy, whisper in its ear, “Be quiet.” If a monster is hungry, give it a fork and a spoon and say, “Chew your food.” If a monster is selfish, say, “Take turns.” If a monster is mean, walk away and say goodbye. If a monster scares you, scare it back and say, “If a monster makes a mess, say clean up.” If a monster is wild, give it a time out and say, “Sit still.” If a monster is tired and grumpy, send it to bed and say, “Go to sleep.” And if the monster asks nicely, kiss it and say good night.
Made for me by Zack Bush, illustrations by Gregorio Deenz.
On the day you were born, I beamed with pride. My eyes filled with tears; I joyfully cried. From the moment I saw you and called out your name, the world as I knew it was never the same. I held you so gently up close to my chest, nestled so cozy; this day was the best.
My new role in life had just now begun; your life’s greatest treasure, my dear little one. Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me.
Oh dear and amazed, this was only the start. From your hands to your feet, I loved every part. Your mouth, your ears, and even your nose, your chubby cheeks and your wiggly toes. I’ll never forget your sweet little grin, your soft tiny hands, your smooth rounded chin. I cherished each moment you looked in my eyes; I stood by your side through laughter and cries.
Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me. You crawled through the house and began to explore; you peeked behind curtains and in every drawer. With amazement and wonder, and never too serious, you’d babble and giggle, always so curious.
With comfort, I calmed you and came to your aid, always together so you weren’t afraid. Each morning I’d wake so excited for you to discover the world and try something new. Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me.
You stood, then fell, but learned how to walk. You said Mama and Dad and started to talk. You laughed with delight as you slid at the park and clapped the first time you heard a dog bark. You loved to bang pots and put on a show; you, my sweet child, were beginning to grow.
I rocked you to sleep in a cradle so tight; I melted when you first kissed me good night. Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me.
A trip to the beach set the wheels in motion. You built a sandcastle, took a dip in the ocean. I saved the first curl that was snipped from your head. I watched as you climbed into your new big bed.
You played in the park, swung a bat, tossed a ball, spent summers poolside, raked leaves in the fall. You rolled in the grass, stared at clouds up above. I watched you being you, and it’s you that I love.
Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me. From the day you were born, so cute, so clever, you’re one of a kind, and I’ll love you forever.
It’s now time to sleep; rest your beautiful eyes. Soon the dark night will turn to blue skies, tucked in tight. It’s my heart where you’ll stay; tomorrow I’ll love you even more than today.
Of all the children that ever could be, you are the one made just for me.
[Music]
Once there was a boy who had no toys to play with. The other children in the neighborhood had lots of toys. Every afternoon, the boy would go to the park, sit under a big tree, and watch the other children play. Sometimes they let the boy play with their toys, sometimes not. This made the boy sad.
One day, as the boy was sitting under the big tree in the park, he noticed a stick leaning against the trunk. He had never seen such an unusual stick. He picked it up. Suddenly, he was a pirate, then a baseball player at bat, and then a knight on a steed.
The boy noticed that there were words carved into the stick. He sang them like a song: “Imagination lives in you; it’s the fire in all you do. Use it well, and you can be anything you want to be.”
The boy carried the stick everywhere he went. He was anything he wanted to be. At the beach, he was a fisherman; at the lake, he paddled a canoe. He was a hiker in the high hills, and his imagination grew.
Time passed, and the boy grew up. With the stick’s inspiration, he became everything he wanted to be. He took business trips and airplane rides; he sailed the seas on rising tides. He gave of his time, he gave of his wealth, he gave from his heart, he gave of himself.
He built a house high on a hill overlooking the valley where he had grown up. In the distance, he could see the park and the old tree where he used to sit. As the years passed, the boy became an old man. But each day, he took his stick with him to the park and sat on a bench near the tree where he had found the stick so long ago.
He would sit for hours and watch the children play. All of the children seemed to have lots of toys to play with, except for one little girl. The little girl always sat under the old tree and watched the other children play with their toys. This made the old man sad.
Early one morning, the old man walked to the park, but instead of sitting on the bench, he went over to the tree. He leaned the stick against its trunk, walked to his bench, and waited. Soon the children arrived at the park with their toys. He waited to see if the little girl would show.
He saw her walk slowly toward the tree. She peered down at the unusual stick leaning against its trunk. She picked up the stick, and suddenly she was a princess, a fencer, then a surfer riding a wave. She noticed that there were words carved into the stick, and as she danced away, she sang them like a song: “Imagination lives in you; it’s the fire in all you do. Use it well, and you can be anything you want to be.”
And the old man smiled and walked home.
[Music]
Before we sleep, as the season turned, the forest was dressed in new colors of rich amber, burnt orange, and chestnut brown. Little Red the fox was happy because now it would be much easier to hide. A fox would be hard to spy among the dried brown leaves, burgundy bushes, and coppery grasses. Only in the open meadow would Hazel the dormouse be able to catch sight of little Red.
Little Red and Hazel spent hours and hours playing hide and seek together. The two friends loved jumping and rolling in the crisp dried leaves. They loved the rustling sound. “The leaves are laughing with us,” said Hazel joyfully.
During these moments of happiness, the cold air hinted at the coming winter. Little Red felt a tinge of sadness, for the smell of winter meant one thing: loneliness. Soon, little Red’s very best friend in the world would settle down in a warm burrow to hibernate.
“Hazel, perhaps this season you will sleep less,” said little Red hopefully, trying to sound cheerful. “Little Red, I am no fox; I am a dormouse. I’d like to stay awake and keep you company, but you know in the end, I must always sleep.”
So little Red started to think of ways to keep Hazel from falling asleep. “What if I could make the sun stay high? Then winter would not be so cold. What if I could ask the forest to hold its fruit? Then there would be food all winter long. What if I tickled Hazel to stay awake? Then we could play.”
The dormouse started to yawn. “Hazel, I want us to stay together forever,” pleaded the friend.
“And little Red, I promise when the winter gives way to spring, I will be here for you, and we will play again.”
“I know, Hazel, but before you sleep, may I tell you a story?”
“Why yes, as long as it is short,” replied Hazel sleepily, with head nodding and eyes closing.
So little Red curled up on the forest floor, and Hazel nestled into the soft warm tale to listen. But before a word of the story was spoken, the two friends had fallen fast asleep together.
[Music]
Hi, cool for all seasons.
Spring: I am a windbird, sky skipper, diamond dipper, dancing on your string. Colorful flowers we sprout on stems of people bloom only in rain. Twigs, sticks, mud, feathers—I’m a closely woven home for chirping chicks.
Here’s my secret: soft petals hide inside me, coming soon, a bloom. I’m a wriggling tube, soft underground tunneler. I fear early birds in the still damp air. You sail leaf boats across me, tiny sidewalk pond.
Summer: My fluffy seeds drift, tiny puffs lift in the breeze and land who knows where. Wicked wind with wings—that’s me, buzzing in your ear. Closer, closer, ouch!
I’m towers and moats molded with hands, cups, buckets, mighty till high tide. I love summer fields—left field, right field, center field. I fly to them all. Fire in our bellies, we flicker, flash in twilight, rich meal of stars. You gasp as I roar, my man exploding, sizzling lion of the sky.
Fall: My first day outfit is fresh paint and polished floors. Here come my new friends. I’m a yellow train carrying thoughts from your brain to the waiting page. I’m radiant with a quick twist of your wrist. I’m free from the tree, reward for raking a crispy crowd of loud crunch when you jump in me.
I perch on the porch, spooky face frozen in place, fire burning inside. I search under oaks and gather tasty treasures. Winter is coming.
Winter: We are knitted twins, soft as kittens, warm as hugs, waiting to hold hands. I’m cold confetti falling from a crystal sky, blanketing the town. I’m thin silver blades spinning circles, carving lines.
You and I, we fly. Lie down in whiteness, kick and swish and wave your arms. Give me winter wings. Firelight from the past, I wink in the frozen sky, waiting for wishes.
In fur coat and cave, I exhale white clouds of breath, dream of sun, green spring.
I love you, little truck. Evening had come in stardusted art.
“I love you,” said big truck, “with all of my heart.”
“Oh, thanks,” little truck smiled, then it sank to a frown. “But what about times I might let you down? Like when I spill oil or get grease on the rugs?”
“Even then, will you give me your kisses and hugs?”
“Darling,” said big truck, “it’s not what you think. Love doesn’t rise and love doesn’t sink. Ah, like stars in the sky, love never gets cold, love never gets tired, it never grows old.”
“But,” said little truck, “there surely must be a time when all your heart doesn’t apply to me. What if I were a big mixing truck? I might get cemented; I might get all stuck.”
Big truck smiled warmly. “Yes, problems aren’t fun, but I’ll solve them with you, each time, one by one.”
“There a bulldozer,” said little truck, “that went boom, bang, splat. Could
