I love to read. I always have. Books seemed such magical things to me--I read through the entire juvenile section of my little rural county library before I turned 12, and haven't looked back since. The sheer availability of reading material on the internet is seriously addictive for me--I have to watch very carefully the time I spend reading at the laptop. Vern is the same way. I can't imagine not being able to read, or not reading. I look forward to the day when the kids aren't so little and I can spend more serious time reading actual books . . . good, long, excellent books to savor and enjoy.
My oldest has always turned into a pile of whining jello when I've tried to encourage him to read. Tonight, after I had the three younger ones in bed, a new synaptic pathway flashing into existence and I said: "You may stay up later than the other kids if you read. If you don't, then you'll need to go get in bed." His face lit up and he started right at it. He's sitting on the couch right now, reading away--sometimes to himself, sometimes aloud--and it's beautiful. Just beautiful.
I'm thinking this could be the start of something wonderful. :o)
