Nana Jo tucked him into his bed. “Close your eyes. Imagine the Nappi Noodle starting at the top of your head. Let it slide down.”
Leo’s eyes grew wide. “Can I try?”
Nana Jo sat down beside him. “Ah. You haven’t met the yet, have you?”
“Oh yes,” Nana Jo whispered. “The Nappi Noodle is a very special, invisible noodle that lives inside every cozy blanket. It’s long, soft, and a little bit wobbly. And it only comes out when you lie very still.”
She demonstrated: In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Once upon a time in the little town of Maple Grove, a young boy named Leo faced the same struggle every single night: . He wiggled. He squirmed. He asked for water, for one more story, for a glass of milk, for the moon on a spoon.
“The noodle is reaching your belly,” Nana Jo whispered. “Let it be soft.”
One afternoon, Leo’s grandmother, Nana Jo, came to visit. She found Leo hiding under the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, pretending to be a sleepy turtle.