I have a totally unrealistic dream. I imagine me sitting in a chair with an enchanting, living book in hand reading to my three sweet boys who are playing or drawing peacefully and quietly, attentive to the beautiful story, absorbing its language and its richness. I’m sure my husband is laughing across cyberspace quipping to himself, “Maybe I should introduce her to our children.”
I would love to establish a family read aloud time for longer chapter books, but my attempts thus far have failed unless we are in the car and I am not driving (which happens rarely on the weekends), though we do love to listen to books on cd from the library in the car. I have books upon books that I can’t wait to share with the big boys, who are eager to listen, but we are usually derailed by our 2 year old who is never just content to sit and play with playdoh or do anything, really, that doesn’t involve physical contact with his brothers. If I put him in the pack’n’play he either climbs out or screams.