“So…what are you reading?”
IT’S A QUESTION any mother of young children dreads being asked. I’m sure the inquisitor means no harm, but answering the question inevitably forces most mothers to choose between either looking stupid — or simply lying.
I’ve been there and done that.
It’s not that I don’t love to read. I do. I just don’t remember the last time I read a book from cover to cover that isn’t made of cardboard, doesn’t rhyme or have scratch-and-sniff pictures or consists of words with more than two syllables.
Even though I have tried to tap into my erudite side with a bestseller now and then, I haven’t had much luck.
Just ask my husband. He rolls his eyes every time I bring a new book to bed. My nightstand is stacked with them. A little bit of Nicholas Sparks (no one does romance better) mixed with some Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin (truly inspiring) a dash of C.S. Lewis (a reminder of the days when my brain was actually in shape), and a new one (which I’ll get to in a moment).
The problem is, I haven’t finished any of them.
Apparently, in an attempt to kindle a fire for reading in the souls of my kids I’ve left the books that I used to love behind.
My husband says I just don’t have the time for them right now.
Perhaps.
But maybe it’s just that they aren’t as much fun.
Besides, I’ve become quite accustomed to ending my day with Shel Silverstein’s quirky, but silly, “Sarah Synthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out,” “Dreadful” and “Sister For Sale.” Leave it to Silverstein, my kids’ author du jour, to make mundane, even annoying, everyday things (like garbage and sisters) worth giggling about.
Or, how about the seemingly endless Junie B. Jones series? Not my personal favorite, by any means. But Barbara Park has satiated my 7-year-old’s appetite for reading so much, that she gets my endorsement.
And then there’s “Rascal,” by Sterling North, the boyhood memoir I’m reading to my 5-year-old. It’s been many years since my heart has been warmed by this classic story about a boy and his friendship with a pet raccoon.
Which brings me back to that new book wedged in on my nightstand. Just to see if I still have what it takes to tackle a book of my own, the same day I checked out “Rascal” at the library I also chose a book for myself: a 454-page biography on Lady Georgiana Spencer, the 18th-century Duchess of Devonshire, by Amanda Foreman.
“Do you think I’ll ever get it read?” I asked Bev Hartsook, the librarian who was already smirking at the confidence in my choice of a read, but from whom I was looking for a few words of hope, nonetheless.
“Nope,” she said, very matter-of-factly, glancing at my three kids who were reaching for their own awkward stacks of books to carry to the car.
I was a little disappointed in her skepticism, I admit. But down deep I knew she was probably right. Still, it sure felt good to carry that thick, heavy annal of history out of the library that day.
It’s been three weeks now, I’m only on page 45 and my new book’s renewal date is quickly approaching. Whether Georgiana has what it takes to compete with a poignant story about a pet raccoon, only time will tell.
In the meantime, don’t bother asking me what I’m reading in my spare time. Now you know the truth.
create (anonymous) says...
Sorry Ashley, but I've forgotten the ages of your little ones, but may I suggest a daily reading time? If they are old enough to appreciate the daily doings of a spider on the porch, then surely they are old enough to behave for a half hour of reading on their own, even picture books. The trick is no-talking or flitting about, just silence and questions afterwards. Be a teacher. Set a timer that they can see. How about some soft Mozart? A small handful of animal crackers and a book, nothing else. You get to read yours for a half hour, and they get to read theirs. Slow down the brain waves. It's quite a nice thing for busy mothers who need to catch their breath. Besides, it is important for children to see their parents read for themselves. Let us know how it works. If it doesn't, your invention is already done for a hilarious column about trying to get kids to sit still for a half hour.
November 8, 2008 at 9:30 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )