This morning after I ran like an idiot on the treadmill for a while, I fine-tuned my fabulous self with some body weight work and smooth Yoga moves, then went down to retrieve Beckett. As per usual, he wanted nothing to do with me and kept right on making loudish sound effects while maneuvering his toy creature over some cardboard brick blocks. He did this in the vicinity of two other boys, who were doing the exact same thing. All three of them, making flying/fighting noises as loudly as was socially acceptable for 5 year olds in playrooms.
I sat my freshly-exercised ass down on a play stage and watched them. They were ABSORBED.
After a few moments, a 3 year old girl planted her tutued self down next to me, dropped a couple of books in my lap and said, “Wead deez to me.”
Naturally I complied.
The first book was dumb and I can’t even remember what it was, although it was one of those kids’ books that makes you feel like you could write a better kids’ book drunk and high and in your sleep and all of that because there’s basically no real character or storyline, the illustrations suck, and what seemed at first like an attempt at rhyming dissolved into some really awkward drivel.
Nevertheless, the little girl was enraptured. A second little girl joined her presently. Slowly, both of Beckett’s cohorts grew quiet and made their ways over, and soon I was the magical storytelling lady. Do you know that reading books really is magic? Kids are drawn to you like crazy, they focus and concentrate and interact. They own that story, and they don’t give a crap who’s reading it, as long as there is a human voice spewing out the words.
This is my favorite book to read to Beckett currently, by the way.