As a parent, there is a barrage of information and pressure to read to your kid. With reasons like a better vocabulary and increased school success, we have been very active in making a young reader. But now I wonder, have we become too successful at this task?
You see, Megan LOVES books. I don't think she has touched any of her other toys in a month. She flips through pages, lifts the flaps, searches for kitties and moves on to the next book. Unfortunately, this is not a solo effort. Megan brings us book after book to read to her, and when the unread pile is exhausted she starts over again.
Our library is quite extensive and we have all the classics, and we have read them all many, many times. Wacky Goat is split at the seams; Goonight Gorilla has several bent pages; My First Body Book is now separated into volumes 1 and 2; The Eye Book got dropped into the bath. It doesn't matter - Megan still wants to read them and then read them again.
But the books aren't the only things worse for the wear. The prose from the books has moved into our precious brain real estate. We can narrate them all with barely a glimpse at the pages; we know the Dr. Seuss alphabet by heart. But worse, the characters of my youth are no longer so lovable: Winnie the Pooh has become detestable from repetition; the Hungry catepillar seems so gluttonous; I definitely don't want to tickle Elmo; and even that adorable little Snuggle Puppy has become quite grating. But we are pleased with Meagan's enthusiasm and so we read to her and try not to let her see us roll our eyes as she grabs My Dog Truffle for the 700th time.
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