Upon coming home from the library yesterday, both Carter and I weighed down with a huge stack of books, Carter said, “Oh, man, we’re going to have to do nothing but read for days! We have so much reading to do, I feel like a rich boy!” Oh, be still my readerly/writerly/mama heart!
Carter and I read all over the house. Our favorite spot, when the weather is nice, is the swing on the front porch. There we have a stunning view of the Sandia mountains. We also love to read snuggled on the couch or huddled together with the dogs on any convenient bed. Comfort isn’t necessary, though, if we really get lost in a book. I’ve found Carter perched on one of our old kitchen chairs in the sunroom or sitting on the bottom step across from the front door, “reading” a familiar story. I’ve been known to lose track of time with my elbows resting on the kitchen counter, a book open in front of me.
This is one of my greatest joys as a mother, sharing my love of books with my children. So far, Abbie is the only one of my children who is a voracious and serious reader. She reads non-fiction, junk fiction, and serious fiction alike, following the joy like all true readers do. Jacob, though he doesn’t read much, will occasionally fall into a book. Right now, he’s reading 2001 and is frustrated that life keeps interrupting his reading. Only Spencer hasn’t yet found the joy in books, but I won’t give up hope. My sister never read for pleasure as a child, but as an adult reading is her primary leisure-time activity, so there’s certainly time for Spencer.