I haven’t been reading much lately.
Anna Karenina has been abandoned on my end table in the living room. I pick it up each evening, read 15 pages, and begin to doze. The book isn’t boring, but I am so very tired.
Even the picture books in their library crate have been lonely lately. My daughter Simone is more interested in playing with her Duplos or arguing with me about the television to want to read. But I miss reading with her. My normally not-so-physically-affectionate child reclines against my body as I read. She giggles at the funny parts. Her brother delights at the picture books with bright graphic illustrations. All is right in the world.
When my children insist upon waking up at 6:30 every morning and Jason’s working extra and our days feel sluggish, reading is the first activity to go. We opt for more passive pastimes. In the evenings I stare at my computer without accomplishing anything.
But my happiest days at home with my kids end with us sitting on the couch at 3:00, the special reading quilt draped across our laps. Schoolbuses pass on the street outside. We hear the slam of Jason’s car door in the drive, and Simone hops from her perch on the couch to greet him at the door.
I’m going to take an hour to read to my kids today. How about you?