Last night, youngest got a new pair of shoes. Once he got them tied he refused to take them off. Play time ended: he had them on. Snack: yep, still wearing them. Teeth brushed: check. Jammies:???
Last night youngest went to bed in his undies, socks and tennies–because he refused to take off his shoes and they didn’t fit through his jammie legs.
There is something so tenacious and unconditional about a child’s love. They instantly find something to cling to and then refuse to let go.
Do you find yourself instantly drawn to a book, where the first sentence rocks your world so much you can’t take your shoes off?
As a busy adult, do you still find those books so magical that you forget the world around you until the last page is read?
Or, are you more responsible or embarrassed by such antics as reading yourself silly?
I used to have a girlfriend who would read one page a night. One page. I don’t know if this is humanly possible for me. In book reading, I’m kind of an all or nothing gal. If I can ration out a book, then it means I’m lukewarm about it.
How do you fit reading time into your life? Does reading ever compete with your writing? And win? Have you ever defended your reading time by calling it research–whether it was or wasn’t?
What book are waiting to get your hands on now?