We all have them. While we’re pregnant we dream of what our children will be and do. They’ll be smart, funny, and athletically gifted, of course. My expectations, not surprising, had to do with books and reading. I envisioned as loyally attending every baby story time together, happily finger rhyming and gurgling. We went maybe twice. It turns out getting a baby fed, bathed, dressed, into a car seat, and then into a library is a lot to accomplish on one’s morning off. I envisioned my child loving Winnie the Pooh (classic Pooh, of course) as much I do. Nope. My child wasn’t even mildly interested in any version of Pooh. Same for Richard Scarry. He likes Scarry books, but not like I loved them. I still love them. How can you not love the Pie Rats?
Some expectations have been fulfilled. Some time ago we started reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. We haven’t gotten far in book, but there was interest. My hopes, my expectations were coming true! Then last week we watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone as a family. “Avoltamore” or Voldemort, the troll (who wouldn’t love a mucus covered magic wand?) and all things magic had him hooked. A few days later we watched Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets a few days later. He was further addicted. Now I’ll get the book out again and start reading it to him again. I’ll fan the Potter flames a little while I wait for him to be old enough to watch more of the movies.
These days we get to story-time at our library just about every week. He’s a reader, a book lover and a story-teller. He loves books and being read to. I can’t ask for more than that. Great expectations, indeed.
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