That’s right. I said it. I don’t like reading to my kids. I mean, I still do it so I’m not a complete monster, but I really don’t enjoy it these days. And is that so bad? Like, do I have to like it in order to be a good mom? On second thought, don’t answer that.

Carter actually really loves books which is kind of adorable, but he’s way too impatient to sit through an entire story. He loves to pull them all out of the bin and bring them over to you one by one saying, “boooook, booook, boooook!” Then he’ll turn around and  back his little ass up to sit on your lap while you read to him. Okay so that part of reading to him is super adorable, I’ll give him that. But he’ll only let you get to about  page 2 before he starts flipping ahead until he’s slamming it shut and running over to the pile on the floor to grab another one. And we do this over and over again never getting more than a couple pages in each time. There are hundreds of really cute children’s books out there with their catchy rhyming and colorful illustrations, so it’s not the material I don’t like. The Gruffalo, for example, is a current fave. That mouse is a slippery little fella. I’d hire him on my team in a heartbeat. He worked E’RYONE over. Plus it’s fun to read: “A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood. A fox saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.” And then there’s Fox in Socks. You can never go wrong with  Dr. Seuss. I have this nerdy game I play with myself to see how quickly I can read it without tripping over the words. I really hit my stride when it gets to the “…a tweetle beetle noodle poodle bottled paddled muddled duddled fuddled wuddled fox in socks, sir!” section. Where the Wild Things Are used to be top of my list until Chris called me out for mispronouncing mischief. So now every time I read it I have to pause to remember if it’s pronounced cheef or chif. It’s chif for those of you who are as bad at the English language as I am. You’re welcome.

Deklan isn’t much better than Carter. He has a million rules you have to follow before you can even crack open a book. Or anything you try to do with him for that matter.

“Lay on the floor facing this way. No not that way, this way. Don’t put your feet there. Put them over here. This isn’t cozy. Move, Mom. Now I can’t see the book. Hold it up higher. No lower. No that’s too low. Now higher. Now your thumbs are covering the pages. Don’t hold it with your hands.”

Oh. Okay. So basically you want me to lay on the floor in a position where I probably won’t be able to get up without assistance since I have the back of an 80 year old, AND I’m also supposed to make the book hover over us like something you’d see on Chris Angel’s show Mindfreak? Impossible.

“Don’t read it so fast! Why do you read it so fast every time? Daddy doesn’t read that fast! Read it again but slower.”

If you must know, I read fast because I already poured myself a glass of wine in the kitchen and it’s getting warm as we speak. Let’s keep going.

“You’re too quiet. Why do you always talk so quietly?”

If I am anything, it is not a quiet talker so that’s a lie. Maybe you just can’t hear me because you keep talking over me.

“Don’t start it until I’m ready. I need to get my blankey, my Ninja Turtle sword, my spider ring, my Captain America kick board, a sip of water, and another bedtime snack and then you can read to me.”

I don’t know where you keep 3 out of the 4 things you need and you’ve already had a bedtime snack, so now you are just procrastinating because you don’t want to go to bed. I’m on to you.

Then there’s always a negotiation of how many books we are going to read, which I usually try to get out of the way before we even begin. My starting number is always 2.  He counters with 3. Sometimes throws out 25. And then we usually settle on two, but end up reading 3 in the end because I’m weak and it’ll take less time to read 1 more book than it will to fight him over why he can’t have another story.

And let’s not forget about the million questions he asks on every. single. page. once we finally get started.

“Why does this guy and this guy look mad at this girl?”

“Why did Mother Gothel want to take her away from her parents?”

“Why did she hit Flynn on the head?”

“What did he steal?”

“Why did he steal it?”

” Why didn’t Rapunzel know it was her birthday?”

“Why is Mother Gothel a bad guy?”

“Why couldn’t Rapunzel’s hair save Flynn?”

90% of the time if he would just let me finish the words on the page he would have all the answers to his questions without having to ask them. He’s like the guy in the meeting (you know the kind) who always has to be one step ahead of the agenda. I’m all for engagement, but there’s something to be said for jotting down your thoughts until the presenter asks if there are any further questions. Table it, Son.

For a while I was getting off the hook pretty easily because he ONLY wanted daddy to read to him. Hard to argue with logic and reason. Chris got burnt out pretty quickly though and started really politicking for mommy to read the stories because it’s “nice to take turns.” I’ll take a turn. When they learn to read themselves.

Now, about that glass of wine waiting for me…

-> photo credit: Meghan Elizabeth Photography