Lil’ Monkey literally sucks the words out of her auntie’s mouth with her eyes, as she reads the beloved children’s classic about a duck’s near-fois gras adventures.
I have renewed compassion for Scheherazade.
There seem to be two kinds of weblog posters, the peripatetic, prolific types — the digital equivalents of Joyce Carol Oates, let’s say, churning out fresh posts like Bollywood churns out films. And then there are folks like me. Slow. Intermittent. Every other day at best; weekends off.
But I said what I said: Quality Content, Daily, for the whole duration of this Weblog Awards beeswax. I consider it a salutary kick in the pants.
As to the above: British tabloids have their “Page Three girls“; LesbianDad has heartwarming pro-literacy images. Auntie Rache is a notoriously voracious reader, and I’m proud to say that her wee niece is likely to follow in her footsteps.
Ahem. Later note: The “following in the footsteps” part will take a moment or two. The lil’ monkey was in her room yesterday calling out “I’m reading! I’m reading!” We rushed to the doorway, breathlessly anticipating the sight of our 2.25 year old Actually Reading. (We’re absolutely certain it’s just around the corner. What? What?) This is what we saw:
I read a tip in a parenting book that you should always wedge as many books into your bookself as possible, so that kids can’t easily pull them out and make such a mess. That always made me wonder: What kind of message are you sending if you have a bunch of kids books on a shelf, but your child can’t actually read any of them? I’d rather have the mess, I think.
I love the book chaos.
For some reason, Noah also prefers a clean shelf and a sea of books to wade through, but his expression on the subject is limited to crawling over and exclaiming “Buh! Buh!”