For The Love Of Books

"You are so stinkin' cute!"

"Not stinky, just cute."

This is an exchange I had with Anna a few years ago. I think she was in kindergarten. And it's still true.

The other day I checked the girls out of school to get the flu mist. Anna skipped to the car. Why walk when you can skip, right? It got to me. She used to skip everywhere. All the time.

Is this the little girl...

She's in second grade this year.

In second grade you are supposed to read 15 minutes every day. I think that was suggested in first grade, but this year they keep track. Anna is in charge of reporting her progress each week, which then must be verified by a parent. So there have been some interesting reports.

A few times they have gone back to the teacher with margin notes describing what actually happened. Anna hates the notes.

But it has worked. I won't sign a fabricated document -- and I don't know if it is fear of embarassing notes, letting her teacher down, or personal pride that has pushed her to legitimately boost those numbers. But she has started to read more.

Yesterday she sat reading a beginning chapter book for nearly an hour. Ghost Horse, since you asked. Hardly fine literature. But it touched her big little heart. Sniffles were heard.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"She never sees him again."

Stricken face.

Sobs.

"Oh, honey..." (I think we've got her!)

And Kate? Well Kate has had her nose in a book for years. It started around the age Anna is now. Like Anna, she was not the brightest star in first grade reading. But by third grade she was years ahead of level.

I don't think her early teachers suspected a thing. But I knew. I waited. For some reason I was convinced that one day something would just click and she'd be off. And then it happened.

I think I saw Anna's click yesterday. I knew it was coming, but it still made me a little giddy.

It honestly never occurred to me that my girls would not love books. How could they not?! Years ago I read an article that said the strongest predictor in reading success is whether children see their mother reading.

That's a theory I can support!

I spent a good portion of my childhood reading -- in my room, the car, upside down on the couch...

What?

I'll let you in on a dirty secret: I did not read a lot to my children when they were little. And I rarely repeated a storybook in one sitting. I just couldn't do it. After a few books I'd leave it up to them. Even as two-year-olds they sat with their little board books and looked at the pictures.

At naptime the girls would climb into bed with me, they with their stack of books and me with mine, and "read" next to me. We'd go to the library sometimes. But not religiously.

I have, however, always kept my eye out for good, age-appropriate books and stocked the shelves so there would always be interesting options around. I get them on Amazon, at garage sales, Half-Price Books, and the book fair at school. I preview most of them and pass the acceptable ones on to Kate.

And now Anna.

On Sunday I looked up from the book I was reading to find every member of my house sprawled on the couches before me, also reading.

Oh, my heart!