I thought I was about to mark this “Worth Doing!” because my son is almost 11 and reads to himself every night now.
However…I just had another baby in July, so I’ll be working at this for the next ten years again.
I thought I was about to mark this “Worth Doing!” because my son is almost 11 and reads to himself every night now.
However…I just had another baby in July, so I’ll be working at this for the next ten years again.
Last night I almost didn’t read to him, rushing off to go for walk by myself. He looked up at me in the dusk of his room, with big sad eyes. “Tomorrow...can we read ‘The World Beneath’ http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0060530650/qid=1121794885/sr=8-2/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i2_xgl14/102-4302327-1500911?v=glance&s=books&n=507846? Because you said you’d read to me tonight.”
Glunk went my heart. The walk went out the window. The book was read. And I’m so glad.
Finished up chapter one of “Henry and Ribsy” last night. Will Henry be able to keep Ribsy out of trouble for two whole months? Uh-oh, looks like Ribsy’s going to get into some garbage in chapter two….
I read to the Bug at least once a week, sometimes more, but not nightly. Sometimes I’m working. Sometimes I’m crabby and tired. Sometimes it’s just too late. But he loves it and I usually do too.
Last night we started “Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang” by Mordecai Richler. I read it to the Bug four years ago, but he was just four and doesn’t remember it. We read 3.5 chapters and he was grinning the whole time.
What mother could pass up that?