More! More! The joys of reading what you love, and loving what you read!

I had been reading The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens to my girls, and reaching the end of the chapter said, "shall we stop here?"  They responded with shouts of "More!  More!"  We had been reading for an hour already and it thrilled my heart that they wanted even more.

It's so satisfying to hear their giggles as Dr. Pym stuffs his mouth full of doughnuts, dripping jelly on his tie, or when King Hamish acts the buffoon, his beard full of drumsticks and such!  One moment I'm reading, sure that the girls aren't hearing a word, not paying the least bit attention, when suddenly their laughing or commenting, or speculating on what's to come!  It's exciting to see them so engaged.

It makes me reflect on when I was their age.  Sadly I didn't like to read at all (sure I liked to write, but read never!)  In fifth grade we had to write an essay on why we liked to read, or why we didn't.  I had written that I didn't like to read because various words seemed to just disappear from the page...shortly after (when my teacher brought this to my mother's attention) I received my first pair of vibrant blue glasses (oh joy!)

Still I'm sad to say it wasn't until just recently that I have fallen in love with reading.  Up until now I found it a complete waste of time.  As a child I reasoned that I'd much rather be out there "living" life than reading about it.  Of course that didn't stop me from plopping in front of the boob tube for hours on end.  As a teenager I despised reading, being forced to read Hiroshima by John Hursey and the Old Man and the Big Fish...otherwise known as The Old Man and the Sea (my greatest apologies to Mr. Hemingway, just wasn't my cup of tea...).  No matter how hard I tried to read these assigned books (and believe me I tried) I couldn't keep my eyes opened for barely ten minutes!



  Then it happened!  I was at the library with my daughters when Emily approached me, a fat, weathered book clutched to her chest.  "I found one for you mommy."  She said, her face beaming and proud.  I took it skeptically from her outreached hands and glanced at the cover.  Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by JK Rowling.  Seriously?  I thought.  But my daughter was so eager I couldn't say no, and less than a week later I was hooked!  As soon as I finished the book I was seething to find out what really happened, for I truly couldn't believe Snape really had killed Dumbledore (of course I didn't think Dumbledore was really dead...)  I rushed back to the library and grabbed the first of the Harry Potter series shouting "More!  More!" 

Finishing a series is filled with some confusing emotions.  On the one hand you've come to the fruition of your journey, you've lived through the story and now have closure, hopefully satisfactory closure, but then your left asking "what now?"  There seems to be a grieving period, like when a good friend moves away, your left wishing you could still see her face, but then you realize you must move on, and you search for the new book, a new journey you can lose yourself in!

So I guess it comes to this, it's all thanks to my wonderful daughter Emily and the very talented JK Rowling for showing me that I do in fact love to read, I had just been reading the wrong stuff!