From the time our boys were teensy little boys, Andrew and I read them bedtime stories. We loved reading to them so much that we took turns so that neither missed the opportunity. (Though when Andrew was traveling, I got the honor to myself.)
Depending on the stages of the boys, we read to them separately or together. If they wanted the same book, we’d cuddle in all together but when they had different desires, we’d comply.
It was the highlight of the day.
Nothing made me happier than cuddling with my little guys and some books.
Some days, we’d read 10 or more. They never got enough. (If you know us IRL, I know you believe me.)
As they got older, the books got longer and more complex.
Until we got to some serious chapter books.
That is not so fun to read out loud – at least for me. While I love I Love You the Purplest and Seven Silly Eaters and Welcome to Dinsmore, The World’s Greatest Store and other sing-songy books, I’m not much of an out-loud reader of novels.
Just makes my throat dry.
But Andrew loves that stuff.
He read the whole Alex Rider series while the boys sat by silently listening. But we finished the series.
Fast forward to today.
And he’s on the third Clive Cussler novel. Corsair. It’s the third book we’ve heard about the Oregon, the ship sent out to save mankind from terrible people and…
Well, I don’t want to spoil it for you.
All I can say is that if you’d asked me when the kids were little if we’d still be cuddling in together reading outloud when the boys were 11, 12-1/2, and 14-1/2, I’d have told you ‘no way.’
But then again, I remember when Davis was in kindergarten. He’d hold a book that I’d never read him and go through it apparently as if reading. When I’d ask him about it, he told me that he couldn’t read it. He needed me to read it. Long story short, I figured out that he could, indeed, read quite well. He was just afraid I wouldn’t read to him anymore once I knew he could read for himself.
I promised him that I, that we, would read to him as long as he’d let us.
And here we are.