Bedtime. Time for books. Time for a few songs (if my husband and I haven't dropped off yet).
There was our younger son - the American - insisting that we read him 'The Little Engine That Could', by Watty Piper. A birthday gift, this book has become his favorite.
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So, we read it to him - takes a while - and when it's done, we get ready for the next one.
"Read it again!", he goes.
When we reach for the other book, he insists, "Again, again!", and thrusts the book into my face. Looks as though the shorter book is not going to happen tonight...
So I tell him, "Here, YOU read it. You're good at reading, aren't you?"
He answers, "I think I can, I think I can.", and we crumple up in giggles.
There was our younger son - the American - insisting that we read him 'The Little Engine That Could', by Watty Piper. A birthday gift, this book has become his favorite.
So, we read it to him - takes a while - and when it's done, we get ready for the next one.
"Read it again!", he goes.
When we reach for the other book, he insists, "Again, again!", and thrusts the book into my face. Looks as though the shorter book is not going to happen tonight...
So I tell him, "Here, YOU read it. You're good at reading, aren't you?"
He answers, "I think I can, I think I can.", and we crumple up in giggles.
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