Back in February, I received a Kindle for my birthday. This was a good thing, encouraging reading and all that jazz, blah, blah, woof, woof. Of course, it also feeds a little book-reading addiction (I’ve read 16 books since) that runs deep in the roots of my family tree. My father worked for a book publisher prior to his days as a beach bum in retirement, and so he became a peddler of cheap books (10 cents for paperbacks, 25 cents for hardbacks) to family and friends, handing out his “crack” to those he loves. As a result, almost every night of my childhood right up until and through and beyond college–well, to this day–my folks have nestled in to the couch with a good book.
Which made me think about how O and Ro will see me unwind as they grow up. Will they see me plugging away on this laptop (most likely), and/or will they see me cradling a book (or e-book reader), laughing aloud at some bit of characterization “I’d just have to read some time” as my mother has all these years?
I’ve got my heart set on the latter, and so far so good. The girls see me reading some at night as they plug away at a puzzle or “read” their own books to one another. Yes, to one another. They move their tiny human index fingers across the page and babble to one another until they find a figure they know. “Cat! Pup! Rooster! Rock-a-roodle-roo!”
This feels like a major coup in the tough terrain that is parenting (read: it’s no joke). I don’t know what has made me more proud. Ever. Sure, earlier today one fell out of her chair while I was comforting the other who had just stubbed her toe. And yes, they may have fought over who could go up the slide next, which may have resulted in a wee bit of hair pulling at first until we sorted it all out. But there was also the unprompted kiss between sisters–twice. The fits of giggles and the feeding of snack crackers back and forth. Then there’s the reading bit.
I’m taking small victories where I can get ’em.