I pride myself in providing my kid with quality reading material. Whether or not she actually wants to consume it is an arbitrary issue. To be honest, C would much rather play cowboys at bedtime these days than she would read a book. I think she’s onto us; she knows that stories make her drowsy and pensive and those are two things that, as a three-year-old, she would rather not be. But still, I read. I read her Madeline because I love Madeline’s fearlessness.
I read her One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish because Clark terrifies and delights me as much now as he did when I was six. C needs to be terrified too. Circle of life and all.
I read her Franklin In the Dark because she needs to be reminded that everyone – no matter how brave they seem – is scared by something. Creatures that only exist in the pages of a book, public speaking, the dark: they’re all a little disconcerting. And it’s OK to feel that way. I need that reminder, too.
All of these books have practical advice we both need to get through life. I’m in Arizona this weekend for Press Publish. I’m going to be getting up in front of a huge room full of people tomorrow to talk about my blog, about writing, and me.
I’ll admit it: I’m nervous.
But it’s during moments like these that I’m glad I read with C despite her disinterest in books. Even though I need to draw upon my cache of life lessons to get through my talk tomorrow, it’s what I’ve learned from Hop On Pop that will really keep me safe during my desert weekend:
Don’t be a bum. Protect your bum from the Arizona flora.
See y’all Saturday.