I love to read, I love books, we have tons of books, so many that I don’t think they’ve even all been read yet, I can’t walk past a book store without bringing at least one home.
I’ve tried so hard to instill my love of books and stories into my girls, I’ve encouraged reading, I’ve taken them to buy books, I’ve let them choose books, I’ve read with them and I’ve read to them.
We have funny stories, heart warming stories, stories with a life lesson and stories to help us understand our feelings. We have big books, small books, short stories and novels, we have ones off’s, collections, traditional stories and modern stories. We have stories for new readers right through to stories for competent readers, we pretty much have a library.
So you’d think they’d at least have a favourite wouldn’t you, a story they like to read or listen to over and over, a story that warms them and makes their hearts smile.
Instead story time is just another opportunity to control. A competition between siblings to see who can ignore me the most and who can talk over me the most. It doesn’t matter that they’d actually like to listen to the story, their need to control the situation and compete is far greater than their need to hear about Baggy Brown, or Albert Le Blanc, or even The Tiger That Came to Tea.
I’ll continue to read, and for now they’ll continue to ignore, but I won’t give up, because maybe one day they’ll listen and allow themselves to fall in to the wonderful world of stories where possibilities are endless and dreams are limitless.