i grew up a middle child and since my mom was busy running after the little ones or dealing with the my older siblings' drama, reading was the single biggest pastime of mine. my grandfather always likes to tell the story of how i was reading 'gone with the wind' when i was seven on a cross-country trip. reading has completely shaped who i am as an adult and i love nothing more then to get lost in the pages of a book. in addition to all of my favorite childhood books, i have been introduced to quit a few new ones since having elodie. here are a few that are in heavy rotation around our house.
i can fly illustrated by the inimitable mary blair has been a colorful, rhythmic book that we've read since elodie was wee.
this book is a bit dog eared from wear showing how often elodie has read it. a nice change from good night moon, this story takes a little bunny through his bedtime routine.
sometimes i get sick and tired of reading so we sing baby beluga while we turn the pages. we love love love the illustrations!
it is refreshing to come up with a narrative for a story. one that is different every time you read it. elodie loves this series by gerda muller. we have winter, spring and summer (but we need to order autumn!)
we serendipitously found this book at a garage sale a few weeks before we started her 'baby animals & me' class and we always use the phrase 'baby animals like to be snuggled and petted gently' when a certain someone is being a little rough!
it truly is one of my favorite things to see elodie sitting quietly looking through a book. i snapped this just yesterday. she was being extra quiet while i was cleaning the house and i walked into my bedroom to see her reading a book wearing her little hula skirt. my idea of happiness!
for more info, watch this lovely video or visit milk + bookies.
i love this...
'don't be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. in fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful for me. if a book truly interests me, i cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. the stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. but those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust.'