Raising a Reader

A priority for me, as a mom, is to raise a child who loves books, loves to read, and will in fact want to read any printed word placed in front of her. It is the reason I don't have cable TV and often encourage Zoey, after a really long day, to grab a book and bring it to the dinner table so we can both chew and skim in comfortable quiet. I have a cozy 'reading spot' set up in the living room, just for mornings like these, where I wake before dawn hoping to accomplish a little writing all alone, only to be joined at 6:20 by my small little sidekick.

And anyone who follows my Goodreads site is at first amazed that I have nearly 400 books listed in my library, until they realize that the vast majority of these books are children's books, and they also have an alarmingly high turnover rate. Sometimes we go to the library three times in a week. That's right. Three. Because if you ask Zoey where she wants to go today, she's quite likely to answer 'to the library! and the park!' It's a beautiful thing.

All of this explains my total joy on Sunday when Zoey asked me to please, Mommy, stop vacuuming and come read with me. She had selected some of her favorites: Rolie Polie Olie, Olivia, and No, David! We snuggled up on the couch and I swear, if a preschooler can have an Oprah 'Aha!' moment, this was one of Zoey's. Halfway through Rolie Polie Olie (the first time), she stopped me to point out a word with a 'Z' in it. Then, the light bulb: 'Mommy! That word has an 'H' in it! What is that 'H' word? What's that word? That word says N-O, what does that mean?'

It finally dawned on her that Mommy is reading the WORDS, not the pictures, in all these books. WORDS MEAN SOMETHING. She was in awe.

We read Rolie Polie Olie three times, slowly, with me tracing her little pointer finger under the words as the story flowed along.

Since Sunday, her love of books has kicked in to overdrive. She wants a variety of books from the library, instead of sticking with only her favorite Maisy/Curious George/Clifford rotation. Instead of picking out her books and getting out the door, she wants to curl up on the floor of the library and read her selection RIGHT NOW, only to get up and wander down another aisle when we're done. She wants me to read to her, then she wants to 'read' to me, a funny recounting of the story that is often quite close to the written words on the page.

Are you tired of me gushing about my child yet?

I know, I know. It's not like she's ACTUALLY READING at the tender age of three, but WOW, she's well on her way. I am fostering a (hopefully) lifelong love of reading, a skill that will carry my child far in the world.

DAMN, I'm good.

Teenage pirate speak

Scene: The library park. Same concrete structure where the infamous Lezbo incident of last year took place.

Obnoxious teenage girl #1: (Laughing and yelling LOUDLY) Oh my GOD! Where is your CELL PHONE, you HO?

Obnoxious teenage girl #2: (Equally as loud) It's right here in the grass! God!

Zoey: Mommy! Did you hear her? She said 'where is your cell phone, yo ho?'

Me: (Loud enough for obnoxious teenage girls to overhear) I know! Funny, huh! She sounds just like a pirate!

Zoey: Yeah! Mommy, a piwate! I yike piwates!

Me: Come on, Zoey! I'll race you back to the playground!

I know Zoey will be some version of this obnoxious teenage girl in the blink of an eye. And I totally hope she gets called out for her obnoxious teenage mouth by a pirate-loving preschooler.

Zoey's essentials

I picked Zoey up from my sister's house the other day after work. I noticed when I walked in the door that she was, yet again, wearing her cousin Finley's sweat pants. Accidents have been happening repeatedly over at Auntie Alisa's house, due to the high level of exciting play going on, and Zoey's desire to KEEP playing despite the fact that she needs to go to the bathroom. Because of this, I have kept her backpack stocked with extra pants and underwear (and a plastic grocery sack) to help in situations like this. So, I asked:

Me: Zoey, why are you wearing Finley's pants? Didn't you bring your own stuff?

Alisa: Oh, she brought stuff, all right. Just, you know, not the right stuff.

Me: Whaaa....?

Alisa led me in to the livingroom to show me what she was talking about.

Alisa: See? She packed a plastic tea pot, one yellow kitchen glove, a wooden toy cupcake tray, her blanket, a plastic spoon, and her baby doll. All totally essential, if you're Zoey, but not, you know, real helpful if you have an accident.

Me: Right. Hmmm.

So we left Auntie's house with a plastic bag full of junk (excuse me...essentials) and another pair of my nephew's pants to wash.

Is this how bag ladies start out? Or is this normal three year old behavior?