Andrew and I are both kind of allergic to books. Not the dust. Just the sitting down and reading part.
I couldn’t read aloud until 6th grade. I guess I just always felt more interested in things that were actually happening as opposed to those that had already happened or were conjecture to happen or could never possibly happen but someone wanted to imagine a wild story about them happening.
Strange for someone who now writes a blog nearly every day of the week…hmm..
Don’t get me wrong. I love reading but things like Harry Potter (a children’s book) and creative crafting books.
Andrew is the type of person that reads every day but fast stuff like news articles or blogs or wikipedia entries. Novels are not his thing.
So we again…thought Clare would be like us.
Before she was born I neatly stacked her books on the shelf that we had reluctantly taken from our sister Liz (thanks Liz. We needed it after all) fully expecting not to read a single one of them unless begged by some child we were babysitting. It gave us the impression of being responsible parents where really we were not reading to Clare and are not really that neat.
I didn’t read to Clare until about 5 months when her doctor insinuated that I should be reading to her. “So you’re singing and reading and feeding and bathing her?”
“Yes.” I lied. (Really? Feeding and bathing go in the same sentence as reading?)
Singing I got. Feeding solids she refused to do until she was 7 months. We weren’t allowed to use soap because of her eczema so you couldn’t really say I was bathing her. Reading…? Whatever.
So I started … out of guilt…
…and haven’t stopped.
Clare LOVES to read. She could do it all day. I do all the voices and she imitates. She laughs and bounces in place while I read each line outrageously. We go to the library once if not twice a week.
That’s what I get for taking fish oil when I was pregnant. Gah!
On the flip side: We have so many of these
I don’t know what to do with myself. Anyone else?