Happily Ever After

Disclaimer: This post is not my Twhylight review. Sorry to disappoint. It's just a tender little story about a boy, who I happened to give birth to, and his library card.

Before I dragged my hub to St. George on Saturday, I took my youngest son (one minute younger than my other youngest son) to the public library. But I didn't have to drag him. He had to drag me.

Actually that's a lie. I was in the car wiping my sweaty eyeballs with a Kleenex before he even finished telling me he wanted his own library card.

Oh my goodness, can I just say publicly that it was the happiest day of my life. How can I describe the straight, pure joy of spending the afternoon at the public library with my boy--special emphasis on BOY.

I've tried and tried to get my boys hooked on phonics, but to no avail. They've all limped along reluctantly when it comes to reading. And this particular boy tested low on his GATES test so many times that one of his reading teachers actually told me he was driving her crazy. Of course I had to poke her eyes out after that. And then I had to poke my own eyes out.

Alls I wanted was boys who lubbed books. Was that too much to ask for? But they lubbed balls. And pogs. And chickens.

I read to them every night because that's what the experts said. Read to your child on a regular basis and he will grow up to lub books. I read and read and read--Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn and Franny K. Stein and Hatchet and all those yawner Magic Tree House books and The Baseball Card Adventure books.

I read every Shel Silverstein book on the planet because that's what the experts said to do. Read rhymes to your child and they will learn to read more rapidly, so nursery rhymes and the Stinky Cheese books and Dr. Seuss lined our shelves.

I made them read the Book of Mormon each day because isn't it documented fact that kids who read the BOM learn to read faster than kids who don't? (That's what my mom says.)

I paid them to read. I bribed them to read. I SCREAMED them to read. And still they didn't read.

And then Percy Jackson came along. My youngest boy (by a minute) only has two chapters left of the fourth book. He keeps a flashlight hidden under his pillow and at night, after I turn out the lights, I peek in and see a little light on under his covers.

I'm verklempt just thinking about it.

And I'm verklempt just thinking about his face when we pulled into the library parking lot on Saturday.

"Wow! This is the library?" he said.

Once inside I didn't hover or make suggestions, I just let him roam free.

Oh, he was such a cutie patootie. Especially when he pulled a book off the shelf and said, "Is there a place here where I can just sit down and read?" And so he found a little table and he sat down and he read. My heart was grinning from ear to ear as I slipped off to the adult section to look for all the books on my own list. The only one checked in was The Wednesday Letters, but I found some Paulo Coelho and some Anne Tyler to keep me from getting bored of my hub in St. George.

When I returned, my cutie patootie was sitting at the computer typing in Stormbreaker. He went and found it on the shelf, then he was back at the computer again, this time typing in Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites.

"My friend says I'll like this book," he told me.

Sigh!

He checked out three books and on our way out of the library he hit me with a snowball, then climbed in the car and asked, "Can I walk here?"

Then he opened Stormbreaker and read it all the way home.

And then he lived happily ever after.

The End