Tonight she read Moo Dog.
I sat in my usual position next to her bed, Hubbie on my other side. We listened as she fairly confidently read the book that we were reading to her only at the start of the year. Words she wasn’t sure about then, she was flying through now.
It made me think about her reading journey, and I had to wonder how much of it was tied up with me. Sure we read books a lot while she was growing up. Even as a baby she would sit on my lap where I would read her Goodnight Moon, The Very Hungry Caterpillar or That’s Not My Bunny.
I did it with her, but I didn’t force it. I made sure to make that distinction. I wanted her to read, not so she could be like me… more so because I believe being well-read really can help you more. It helps in education, at school, and in life in general.
I knew she might very well grow out of it one day. I mean for many years, I did too.
But I didn’t care. I just wanted her to have beautiful memories of us.
She has passed my expectations. She still continues to read, to want to read, and loves bringing home massive chapter books from our local library that are 6 years too early for her (big dreamer).
Every night we read a book. At least one. It’s not even a question anymore.
Every night… “just one more?”
I smiled. Tonight the book was about a dog that moos, and everyone laughs at him because he is a dog, he can’t moo…
But surely, he moos. And shows them, huh, dogs CAN moo.
“Cock-a-doodle doo!” Baby girl screamed at the last page.
I covered my ears. “Okay… time for bed.” ♥