Okay, my dreamy one… you all cozy? Pajamas on? Let’s snuggle down and do a couple quiet breaths… in slow… out slower… Yeah, just like that.
This story’s about a little kid named Sammy—who loved bedtime almost as much as playing outside.
One night, Sammy’s mom helped him put on his favorite pajamas. They were soft and a little stretchy, the kind that feel like a big hug when you zip them up.
Sammy stood in front of the mirror and wiggled. “These are my magic pajamas,” he said with a grin.
They didn’t make him fly or turn invisible or anything wild like that. But oh, they did something special.
When Sammy climbed into bed… the blanket felt warmer, like it was hugging him back.
The pillow felt fluffier, like a cloud that didn’t want to float away.
Sammy closed his eyes and let the magic happen.
In his imagination, the room got quiet and cool. He pictured a gentle pond, still and shiny under the moon. A little frog sat on a lily pad and croaked softly—croak… croak… far away, like a lullaby.
The moon reached down with a silver finger and touched the water. Everything sparkled just a little, but not too bright.
Sammy felt it all over: safe… warm… calm.
No rush. No noise. Just the soft pajamas holding everything together.
He yawned—a big, slow yawn that made his toes curl.
His legs got heavy… like they were sinking into the cloud pillow.
His arms relaxed… hands tucked under the blanket.
One more breath… in… out…
The frog croaked once more, quieter.
The moon smiled.
And Sammy drifted off—easy, peaceful sleep—dreaming of ponds and hugs and tomorrow waiting patiently.
The magic wasn’t really in the pajamas. It was in the quiet, the cozy, the feeling that everything was okay.
Goodnight, Sammy.
Goodnight, my magic one. (This one’s my go-to on nights when they’re overtired and fighting it— the imagination part calms their busy brain. I whisper the croak sounds and do the breaths with them. Even cuts through those sticky Dallas evenings when the air feels thick and sleep seems far away.)
