Friday, 7 June 2013

I ♥ books.

I'm a bookworm, a book nerd, a hoarder of old books, a framer of illustrations, a referencer of passages, a sucker for a hardcover, totally and ridiculously into books. And when it comes to children's books you can pretty much turn the dial up on all of the above. 

My childhood storyboard is made up of Roald Dahl (just ignore that he threw his wife down the stairs), Tin Tin, Asterix & Obelix (the movies were also great), the Magic Faraway Tree, Beano comics (ok not a book but must be included), Beatrix Potter (invited Mrs Tiggy Winkle to many a tea party) and many, many, many more.

Daniel is only 7 months old and we read every day. A part of me does feel a little stupid reading to him when he can't even say 'mama' yet. I sometimes get that awkward reading aloud feeling and I literally laugh out loud at how bad I am at voices and accents. But! He gets it. I just know he does. He smiles in the same places in each book, he goes super super quiet like he's internalizing everything I'm reading and his eyes light up when he sees certain pictures. This makes my heart happy. It's so important to me that he remembers these stories, that he uses his imagination, that he creates his own world of characters. It's important that life is colourful, that possibilities are endless.

There was a study recently about the affects of talking to your baby (even from teeny weeny). It's super long and super boring but the gist is that if you talk to your baby they will be more intelligent. I wonder if the same works for creativity? That if you inspire your kids to be creative they will be? Who knows. 

Stories help us to frame our world. I want him to have access to the right ones, to meet and love the great characters that I met and loved as a child. Soon it will be all Xbox and TV and MXit (puke), and books will take a backseat again. But they're precious, they stick, they shape us to a degree and if anything they provide so much joy.

So much joy.

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