"A house without books is like a room without windows"

My children have always loved being read to, and have lately developed a fondness for "reading" on their own. Neither one quite knows how, but they are both starting to identify some letters and how they go together.

Their great desire to read kind of snuck up on me- struck me out of no where. It started as a delaying tactic- The Girl refusing to go to bed without Mommy reading at least three stories. The Boy going to his room at bedtime, and sitting in his little chair next to the night light, with a book on his lap.

Lately I have noticed them "reading" more and more though, bringing books into the playroom and pouring over them together. Passing them back and forth- taking turns puzzling out letters in Curious George, Dr. Seuss, and the Bernenstein Bears. Turning to books as a way to understand or relive a new experience.

When The Girl had her three year well-child check up, The Boy proudly brought her The Berenstein Bears "Go To The Doctor" to read in the car on the way there. When we come in from riding bikes outside- The Boy sits down with "Curious George Rides a Bike". And yesterday, after finding a spider who had wandered into the kitchen, The Girl brought me "The Very Busy Spider" to read.

I'm finding myself fascinated by their fascination- and thinking back to days gone by. As a child I was quite the voracious reader myself. I remember signing up for the "Book It" program at our local library every summer- and checking out just about every book that was available. When the school reading lists would come out- I would read not just the required books, but also the recommended books, and also anything else any of those authors had written.

While my classmates were complaining about reading "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe"- I was devouring the other six books in the Chronicles of Narnia. I had some teachers who fed my addiction to the written word- suggestion authors and books to me each Friday to read over the weekend. I had other teachers who hated it- issuing demerits each time they found me reading a book for pleasure instead of the chemistry notes I was supposed to be reveiwing for an upcoming exam.

A love of literature was one of the reasons That Guy and I got along so well. The first two years of our relationship was marked by a new book on each gift giving occasion- poetry, short stories, biographies, novels, everything from the great classics to the more modern, and even the occasional children's book.

I was thinking about all of this today when I was cleaning the house. I realized that our bookshelf is now just gathering dust- and has become a "holding pen" for random clutter. A box of pens, the bills that need to be filed away, cigar boxes (That Guy has taken up building cigar box guitars), and toys that the kids have left downstairs and The Puppy has chewed on.

And I realized that we just don't read any more. Sure, I read my school books- message boards, articles online and in the paper. I occasionally pick up a parenting book or a self-help book, the occasional romance novel (my guilty pleasure) and, of course, children's books. But I can't remember the last time I sat down to really read something- just because I wanted to- and completely lost myself in it.

I love that my children are so fascinated by the written word- and I hope that they don't "grow out" of it, as I seem to have done.