I love reading. I'll read almost anything - fiction, biographies, current events. Anything. My parents have always been readers - my dad and his newspaper, and my mom, amazingly enough, even with four kids would manage to have a book tucked away in the kitchen or in the side of the minivan door. Over the summer my mom would load us all up in the car to spend an afternoon checking books out in the small library in our town (which now, by the way, is an amazing state of the art library with resources, DVD's, CD's, magazines and books galore). There was a period of time when reading became so frenzied for my sister and me that we would even bring our books with us to breakfast, devouring the pages of our Archie comics, Ramona Quimby books, and Judy Blume titles while consuming large bowls of cereal. I remember one morning my dad insisting that we clear the table of our books and instead talk to each other. My sister and I are best friends, so engaging in conversation was absolutely no problem (even to this day, our husbands wonder why we need to talk to each other multiple times a day). But we were so obsessed that we took to reading the inane puzzles and facts on the cereal boxes.
When my nieces and nephews were born, I re-entered the world of children's books. And I fell in love. I would spend hours at Borders and Barnes and Noble searching the children's section for old titles only to stumble upon new treasures. I think that it was my love for children's books that eventually drew me into the field of teaching. Now that I'm a mother, my love for reading is something I truly hope to pass down to my daughter.
The very first book I read to her was Pride and Prejudice. I found that breast feeding wasn't only a full time job, but it was tedious and mind-numbing. So, I thought I'd read one of my all time favorites to pass the time, and I decided to read it out loud to her. She seemed to enjoy hearing my voice, and I relished reading Jane Austin's classic out loud - bring her words and characters to life for my daughter (even though she was only a few days old!). We continue to read - a lot. And like an indulgent mother and a bibliophile, little Y's book collection keeps growing. I try to save buying new books for an occasion - father's day, mother's day, birthdays, etc. But sometimes I just can't help it.
I keep a spread sheet of books that I come across (either in the library, books store, or through recommendations) plus my own childhood classics that I think little Y would enjoy. The database is roughly divided by picture books and chapter books. I predict that it'll soon be subdivided by age. Little Y has already gone through a whole slew of favorites - Dr. Seuss's ABC's, Silly Sally, The Sleeping House, The Foot Book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Papa Please Get the Moon for Me, Madeline, Hush Little Baby, Imogen's Antlers, and A Color of His Own. Usually when little Y gets a new book, she shows very little interest in it. I preview the book with her, but then she'll often neglect it in favor of the books she that she's read dozens and dozens of times. Without fail, she eventually and independently shows interest in her new book.
Little Y is now 23 months old, and her current obsession is Swimmy by Leo Lionni. The reason I love Swimmy is because it's a very subtle story that teaches the importance of creativity, perseverance, and it touches on the subject of loss. The illustrations are phenomenal - conveying the feelings of a vast ocean full of beautiful and mysterious creatures. Today she read the book eight or nine times with her Papa. When it was time to leave for a birthday party this afternoon, she said, "Mama, wait five minutes. I want to read Swimmy." And she shimmied herself on to the couch, with the book in her hands, and opened it up. I reminded her that we had to leave for her friend's birthday party, and when she asked if she could bring the book in the car, I promised her we would read it upon our return home. She reluctantly agreed, and our drive to the party took longer than usual because of summer traffic. During the car ride we never discussed Swimmy, and little Y fell asleep about fifteen minutes into the ride. When we arrived at the party, my husband and I announced our arrival, and the Y woke up. Still half asleep, with her eyes fluttering open, she looked over at my husband as he was taking her out of her car seat and said, "Tuna not eat Swimmy. Swimmy escape." My husband couldn't decipher what she was saying, so I responded to her by reassuring her, "Yes sweetie. Swimmy escaped." She responded with a smile and an affirmative nod, repeating, "Swimmy escape." When we got home, after washing up for bed, changing into her pj's, the Y retrieved Swimmy from her bookshelf and asked Papa to read it again for her. She smiled as Papa retold the story of a clever fish who persevered in the vast ocean.
Later that evening, after the Y went to bed, my husband and I discussed what seems to be Y's intense interest in Swimmy and the big, bad tuna. My husband expressed his concern that she may be afraid of the tuna, and I think he's probably right. I think the Y's is preoccupied with the fact that the tuna almost ate Swimmy that's why she has to constantly reassure herself that Swimmy escaped. I also think that her desire to re-read the book is a way for her to embrace Swimmy's determined perseverance; a trait that I truly hopes she develops and embraces.
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