My little girl is chirping and garbling her her way through her favorite books these days.
Bega bega gagaga mamama op-of beGA, she says as she turns the cardboard pages.
I never get sick of reading to her. If I am doing the dishes or trying to peck out a blog post (which is tougher these days), I take a moment to sit her on my lap and read through Dr. Seuss’ There’s a Wocket in my Pocket or Matthew van Fleet’s adorable interactive pop-up Ga Mee op Safari. She won’t want me to read to her forever, after all. Some day she’ll be holed up in her bedroom with her nose buried in a book she just can’t put down.
Every evening, we re-stack her books on an old school gym bench that we’ve fashioned as our living room book shelf. The following morning, she pulls them onto the floor one by one, and by the end of the day, they are scattered all over the house again. We just consider it a daily chore to collect them, along with cleaning up the dirt she ritually digs out of the our potted plant in the dining room.
She’s also dragging around books that are practically half her length, and she’s torn some of them completely in two. Her lovely father has glued some of the binding and pop-up bits back together, but with others we just read what’s still intact. She doesn’t seem to mind.
A few days back, I found her perched on the bench where books go, legs Indian style, looking through Guess How Much I love You. She pointed at the illustrations, remarking “bega-bega-bega!!” Finally – DA-daaa. “The end”, she says, and closes the book.
I feel so damn lucky to get to witness this little person revel in the magic of books.
Check out bibliotherapy and what this teacher is doing to encourage reading and mindfulness: http://blogs.ibo.org/blog/2017/07/12/a-good-book-at-the-right-time-can-be-life-changing/