My Little Reader

I distinctly remember sitting on the love seat in our house in Florida.  The pastel blue and pink plaid one.  The one where Bear was lost under a cushion for three whole weeks – an eternity.

I remember sitting on that couch on my dad’s lap reading my favorite story for the bazillionth time.  Ferdinand.  I remember turning the pages to my favorite illustration: the one with the lovely ladies with flowers in their hair.  I remember reciting memorized passages.  And suddenly!  A word on a page.  No longer individual letters, stark and black on a white paper.  But a drawn word.  A picture I could read. 

F-E-R-D-I-N-A-N-D

And now I sit on a recliner sofa in our house in Maryland.  The green leather one.  The one that Ries started to eat as a puppy seven whole years ago – an eternity.

I sit on that couch with Laura on my lap reading her favorite story for the bazillionth time.  Ferdinand.  She turns the pages to her favorite illustrations: the one with the men in funny hats, and the one with Ferdinand peeking out into the bull ring.  Laura recites memorized passages.  And suddenly!  A word on a page.  No longer individual letters, stark and black on a white paper.  But a drawn word.  A picture she can read.

F-E-R-D-I-N-A-N-D

In my two and a half years as a mother, I am not sure I have ever been so proud of Laura as I was last night when she found every "Ferdinand" in her favorite book.  Pride in part because my daughter is one smart cookie.  But mostly pride in her love of books and ready.  I hope Laura’s love only grows throughout her life.