I have become acutely more aware lately that my two children are watching my every move. I notice my 5-year-old daughter imitating my word choices and phrases, even down to the inflection, transforming more and more into my mini-me daily. Based on this knowledge, I consciously decided that I wanted my children to see their mother reading books during her “downtime” instead of scrolling mindlessly on her phone (I use “downtime” loosely because all mothers know how precious and scarce those fleeting moments can be). I also wanted my children to see that their mother genuinely loved reading.
Growing up, I always loved reading. One of my fondest memories involves visiting the local library on Saturday mornings, checking out a stack of books consisting mostly of Sweet Valley High and Fear Street, tearing through them all week, and returning to the library the following weekend to check out the latest titles. Reading was a means of escaping. To travel into someone else’s world for a brief period. To exercise your imagination and to learn.
I have always wanted to instill that love of reading in my children, and I have thus far to varying degrees of success. With the best intentions, I had them each sign up for a library card and watched as they excitedly chose the design and carefully wrote their names on the back of their own cards. The first few trips were filled with wonder and amazement, but then the enthusiasm for the library and reading overall started to wane. Over the years I have tried to recreate interest by taking them to library story times, carefully researching children’s books that consistently receive rave reviews focusing often on morals and values we share as a family unit, and lately, as they mature, finding books that engage their interests. I have bought books that I remember fondly from my childhood and reminisce about my days listening to these stories repeatedly decades ago. I ensure that we read together every night, even if it’s only briefly. I have watched with pride as my children now confidently read their bedtime stories to myself and my husband and remember those days when they would sit in our laps listening to us read to them.
Through all my efforts, my children, at times like reading, and at times view it as a necessary chore. However, my hope is that with continued effort and patience, their love of reading will blossom, and their appreciation and value for the impact that a book can make will become a realization.
