When I was a little girl, the thing I was most often in trouble for was "having my nose in a book"(quoting my mother here) and therefore being slow to do chores, acknowledge guests, etc.
It seems that Evan, my two year old, has inherited this love for reading. When I clean up our family room every night, I find his books everywhere. They have been known to slide under my feet while I am driving. And, we have had to explain -- more than once -- why books can not be brought into the bathtub. (I know about those laminated books, and yes, we have some, but I refuse to get more. I must draw the line somewhere.)
Evan's love of books is enabled by our willingness to read aloud to him. Which we do. All the time.
This morning, I sat down to nurse my four month old. Just like always, Evan came running over with a stack of books he could hardly carry, giddy at the prospect of a half an hour of a captive mother. And, right on top: The Complete Adventures of Curious George (all 399 pages -- yes, I've looked).
So, here in the safety of other blogging mamas, I will own up to the dread that this sight inspired in me. And, I will make my confession: I no longer love to read. At least not when it involves reading aloud.
2 comments:
I think we've all been there with certain books, and it sometimes seems they choose the most poorly written ones to obsess over. Soon we'll be able to read things out loud that will entertain us too. Laura Ingalls Wilder, Roald Dahl, Frances Hodges Burnett, L.M Montgomery, Barbara Robinson...just hold on!
Yes, really great read alouds are coming!
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