Moms are a Special Kind of someone. Silent and strong. Mouthy and mushy. 1600+ kinds of beautiful.
I know this is so because Mom says so.
Moms are sometimes sentimental. Like the other day. Mom, The Kid and me were walking home from the library. All of a sudden Mom gets all misty-eyed. Something about Fridays and Storytime at the library.
“Do you remember how we used to walk over to the library every week for Storytime when you were a little kid?” she says to my brother. He’s the youngest. I have three other brothers older than him. “How did you get to be 18 so fast?”she asks.
The Kid smiles and says, “One day at a time.”
They’re both lugging home a bag full of books. YA books. Adventure books. Science fiction/fantasy books. Biographies. Historical fiction. Authors like Kristin Cashore. Rick Yancey. Laini Taylor. Rick Riordan. Max Lucado.
I’m investigating recent evidence of a Lhasa Apso. They’re taking in the ‘fall colors.’ Tip-toeing down Memory Lane. Seems like 20 years of kids and weekly Storytimes at the library is a lot of ground to cover.
“I remember when you kind of lost interest in Storytime,” Mom says to The Kid.
Still looking for that Lhasa Apso. Wait. Is that pizza I smell? With sausage?
“You were around six years old” recalls Mom. “You wanted longer stories with more words. You wanted to roam the library shelves and select books yourself.”
“I still do” says The Kid.
Besides the library, Mom read aloud to my bros every day. For at least an hour. More if it was a good story. Like Treasure Island. Swiss Family Robinson. The Three Musketeers. The Count of Monte Cristo. A Tale of Two Cities or The Last of the Mohicans. Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. Make Way for Ducklings.
I know this is so because a Mom says it is. That, and our house is crammed with books. All. Over. The. Place.
Anyway, The Kid still visits the library regularly. He loves that place. He loves books and reading. Maybe there’s something to this Storytime thing? And 1601 kinds of beautiful?
Do I smell pepperoni?
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