Because what is a joy that can't be shared with others?
The reading question has been one that has been analyzed and re-analyzed over many an over-priced cup of coffee with my group of close friends. My friend Georgie and I find this question particularly troubling.
Georgie and I both share an uncanny ability to show up at events dressed as though we'd called each other first to check in. We are the kind of friends who will cook the same things for dinner, buy the same cute napkins from Ikea and decide to eat out at the same restaurant on the same night, all without prior consultation.
Which leads to another similarity. We both agonize over the fact that our daughers don't love books the way we did. Don't get me wrong. They're both smart girls. They know how to read and they like the idea of reading but, given the choice, the thing that will keep both girls up past midnight isn't Little Women and a flashlight under the covers.
They are the talkers, the tellers of stories and fonts of imaginative play. They're the kind of girls who are in high demand for play dates because they're NEVER at a loss for ways to occupy themselves.
At four, they created puddles in Georgie's basement in order to make 'Polly Pocket Lake'. We discovered them in their underwear joyfully stomping and squealing in said puddles.
At seven they face painted each other with lipstick, which would have been okay if the lipstick hadn't been smudge- proof and they didn't wipe it on the walls, the mirror, the carpet and all over my daughter's bed. Now at ten, they are busily planning the details for next year's attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
When there is so much joy to be gleaned from every day life, maybe it's okay if books take a backseat. Maybe if Georgie and I had grown up together we would have spent more time creating outdoor soup and putting on plays. After all, books will always be there, but being ten is a place you only get to go once.
|She's reading, I'm writing. Everyone's happy.|