This is a familiar sight at our house:
Two little rumply-haired boys in robes/jammies reading together on the couch early in the morning. It is one of their favorite things to do. It is also one of Mommy’s favorite things for them to do, because when engrossed like this, they are at peace with one another. No cross words, bickering over a toy, or whining to me about what evil the other has just done.
But there is also humor within this picture. Please note that both boys have a Magic TreeHouse book: this is a recently-discovered series in our family, and the children have been getting every book they can find out of both the city and school libraries. Which is understandable for Abigail and Jonathan, because, well, they can actually read. Words, that is. And Treehouse Books are definitely reader books. There are not a ton of pictures to help tell the story if you can’t figure out what the funny-looking symbols all over the page mean. Personally, I’d have a hard time enjoying these books if I was not a reader.
But Nicolas doesn’t agree with me. That precious boy of mine can’t read a single word, but he LOVES reading TreeHouse books. In fact, he tells me that he’s “read” eleven TreeHouse books now. Really. And he believes he has. Every time Jonathan picks up one, Nicolas chooses one for himself. Unless of course, as he tells me, he’s “already read that one”.
It’s so cute. He wants to be just like his big brother, and “read”. I, feeling sorry for him (thinking he cannot possibly be enjoying the process of patiently running his chubby finger underneath every. single. word. in. the. entire. book. – which is what he does in order to finish reading it, mind you) offer him countless picture books off our shelves, and he politely declines, saying he’d rather read his TreeHouse book.
Until this past weekend…when Jonathan began the first in another series of books which we own: the Hobbit. I wondered which TreeHouse book Nicolas might choose to read from while sitting next to his big brother. But the four-year-old calmly reached into the same grouping of books from which Jonathan had selected the Hobbit, and settled down comfortably with his own volume: none other than Fellowship of the Ring.