Few children learn to love books by themselves. Someone has to lure them into the wonderful world of the written word; someone has to show them the way.
We are reading a lot these days, some of us more than others. In April and May, I attempted to read N.T. Wright. We parted ways amicably before the book was over, but I don't think we will meet again. Right now I am knee deep in Wilberforce's work, Practical Christianity, but wading through his rich language is proving too much effort for my snatched moments with a book. I am embarrassed to admit that, but it is so, and I am taking pleasure in realizing how much reading is going on around me.
This month as a family we thoroughly enjoyed Under the Egg by Laura Marx Fitzgerald. The mystery captured us, and clever characters and fascinating history kept each child in turn asking for another page. Monte B. has been working through a stack of titles this spring, but when I tucked him in tonight, he was enjoying Bruchko, while Malcolm poured over his new favorite, Nature Anatomy: the Curious Parts and Pieces of the Natural World. MyLinh is rarely without a book in hand. We are so grateful for our library's extensive list of downloadable audiobooks, and in the last couple of months she has listened to several titles from The Incorrigibles of Ashton Place series, Peter Pan, Anne of Avonlea, Because of Winn-Dixie, and Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes. She has poured over the first Nancy Drew titles, Mr. Popper's Penguins, a handful of Beverly Cleary books, and Anne of the Island. But the very best reading that has happened over these sweet spring days has been her reading aloud to me... Little Women. She has been chuckling outloud at Jo's adventures and lamenting her troubles, and I am delighting in her discovery of this, one of my favorite books.
What a gift to read...and to be read to.