The Trouble With...(Pt. 2)

I don’t know how parents feel about reading the same stories over and over again to their kids. I can only tell you how I feel. The stories get pretty old. I got a little tired of Sam I Am trying the same stuff, or refusing to try the same stuff. And at one point, I think I even conceded that the sky did fall…end of story. I shut the book on Chicken Little and sent the boy to bed! Buh-bye!

I was fortunate that my son loved reading, and wanted to have me read to him. I believe this was my mother's fault. She felt the same way about books. She would say, "Why would you want to waste any extra time not reading?" And Justin wanted everyone to read to him. Every babysitter we had was greeted at the door with as many books as he could carry. Then he would lead them to the sofa. Forget introductions. That was not important. Names were a useless formality and waste of precious reading time.

It was during one of my satirical interpretations of a Dr. Seuss story that Justin put his hand down vehemently on the pages. “That’s not what it says!” “How do you know what it says? You can’t read it. I’m the one reading it. If I’m reading it, then that’s what it says.”

“But, momma, that’s not what you said yesterday. The story goes…”

This began a discussion (*clears throat in jest) that soon ended our story. It is possible that you have never argued with a two-year old, but it can be rather comical. Or perhaps you have, I don't judge. Either way, you find yourself in an odd position. In one moment, you feel like you need to state your case. Then in the next moment you realize that you are, in fact, having an argument with a two-year old. The problem is, the kid is actually right. You now have to decide, do you want to win, just to win, or do you want to do the right thing? I mean, what kind of a parent are you? I can tell you I was tired and cranky, that's why the story was not the same.

That evening, he sat on the couch with my husband Jamie (daddy), who had him write out the alphabet. As they did, he learned the pronunciation of each letter. Then they practiced small words: the, and, to, be, etc. Justin took his alphabet to bed with him. He was very excited. I was convinced he stayed up all night practicing.

The next day, I saw him sitting with his alphabet and a book on the couch. I asked if he wanted some help. He did not. And so we went about our day so as not to bother one another. I did keep checking in on him, but he just kept getting more and more books and bringing them to the couch. By the end of the afternoon, he had 20 or 30 books piled all around him. I went in and started to pick them up. Then I sat down beside him and asked if he would like for me to read to him. He said, “Momma, can I read to you?” I smiled as a flood of voices from my past, mostly my own mother’s, rushed through me. “May I. Say ‘May I read to you?’ Because, if you can, I would be delighted.” This might be funny to you, or maybe you think I’m cruel, but truly...for a two-year old, this means nothing.

“Th-e-re i-s n-o t-i-me f-o-r f-u-n. Th-e-re i-s n-o t-i-me f-o-r p-l-a-y.” That was the longest version EVER of ‘The Cat In The Hat.’ And it was worth every s-e-c-o-n-d.