I wasn't going to post today.
But then I witnessed a moment with my son. And it's the type of story that I want to get down and record for my children. (Someday soon, I promise I will write about my daughter too!)
I love to read. I always have. I have wonderfully fond memories of my mother reading The Bobbsey Twins to my brothers and I before bed. I associate certain books with certain grade levels. When I was in 2nd grade, as my son is now, we read "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs," "Charlotte's Web," and "How to Eat Fried Worms." "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" remains my favorite children's story, and was the first item I bought when I found out I was expecting Jake.
Jake, like me, started reading early. In fact, I think he's a better reader than I was at his age. And he reads signs, labels, cereal boxes, titles on TV. But he doesn't like to read fiction books. 9 times out of 10, if forced to read, he will pick a non-fiction book. The expectation in his school is that children read 15+ minutes on 20 or more nights per month. We usually end up having a battle about him having to read. He reads 1-2 pages, and then wants me to read for him. Every 3-4 minutes, he asks how much longer he has to read for.
Tonight, I had to leave to go to dance class. Jake had not yet read. He wanted to watch TV, but I told him he had to read. He came out from his room with a book, and asked if it was acceptable. I reminded him that he had started "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" last night. I was trying to get my stuff together and deal with Sophia, who was throwing a tantrum. I look in my room, and Jake is sitting on the bed, reading out loud. Without prompting or assistance. I kissed him good-bye. As I started to go downstairs, I heard Jake laughing out loud. He said, "Listen to this!" and then repeated a passage that made him laugh. And he laughed again.
Maybe, just maybe, tonight, Jake developed a love for reading. (Fingers crossed)