Now, I’m having another proud mummy moment. The Child is doing really well with learning to read at school. And now she rarely wants me to read her a bedtime story (one of her favourite things until now), as she wants to read me a bedtime story. Maybe I lavish too much praise on her, but I am so proud when she reads all of her book, stumbling on only one or two words. As far as I’m concerned she deserves all the praise she gets. She does find the stories a bit simplistic though, and will add her own bits once she’s finished reading what’s on the page.
Her love of reading is definitely something to encourage though. I love reading too, so I suppose she’s grown up surrounded by books, and being cared for by someone who almost always has her face buried in a book of some description. Bookshelves are a constant need of ours. Yet I shall never admit to having too many books. In my mind you can never have too many books. I think I could quite happily live in a library or bookshop, and I have a feeling that The Child would agree with me there. Books. We need more books. And bookshelves would be an added bonus.
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