My love affair with books

It all started when I was 5 years old.  Kara was next to me on the scratchy brown couch while light streamed in through the dark orange blinds.  The shag carpet tickled our feet, and Neil Sedaka was probably singing about his Calendar Girl on the record player.  Kara helped me sound out each letter in the See Jane Run book until it finally clicked.  I was a reader like everyone else in my family!  A whole new world opened up.  I couldn't wait to read this book to my Dad when he got home from work.  I'm sure he was incredibly impressed and knew right then that his youngest daughter was extra special.

After memorizing all the Dick and Jane books, I began devouring our Little Golden Books collection.    Hours each week were spent with my face inside a Golden Book.  The gold edging makes me want to cry with nostalgia.

I bet I looked through all the pages of We Help Mommy a thousand times.  When I was still very small, Scotty said the book was about me and him helping our Mommy during the day.  I was so proud to have a book written about me!

The inside cover of the Golden Books always had a place to write your name.  When did we stop writing our names inside books to claim them as our own?  I have many old books from the 1800's and early 1900's and every one of them has the name of the owner on the front page.  Often the book was a gift, so the book has the names of both the giver and receiver next to the date it was given.  What a treasure!  Now we run through Walmart as quickly as possible to find a gift we hope the receiver doesn't already have.  We have too much, and give too little of ourselves.

This will always and forever be the only REAL story of Rudolph.  All the new Christmas books mess up the story by including details that did NOT really happen, along with bright fancy artwork.

A Birthday for Frances was at the top of my list for several years.  I couldn't resist the story about Frances deciding whether she should give a Chomp bar to her little sister, Gloria, for her birthday.  I think this is where my love affair with chocolate also began.

Oh, you would like to read a passage from the book?  Well, since you asked so kindly, I will share with you the best part:

"Frances was in the broom closet, singing:

Happy Thursday to you,

Happy Thursday to you,

Happy Thursday, dear Alice,

Happy Thursday to you.

'Who is Alice?' asked Mother.

'Alice is somebody that nobody can see,' said Frances.  'And that is why she does not have a birthday.

So I am singing Happy Thursday to her.'

'Today is Friday,' said Mother.

'It is Thursday for Alice,' said Frances.  'Alice will not have h-r-n-d, and she will not have g-k-l-s.  But we are singing together.'

'What are h-r-n-d and g-k-l-s?' asked Mother.

'Cake and candy!  I thought you could spell,' said Frances.

'I am sure that Alice will have cake and candy on her birthday,' said Mother.

'But Alice does not have a birthday,' said Frances.

'Yes, she does,' said Mother.  'Even if nobody can see her, Alice has one birthday every year, and so do you.  Your birthday is two months from now.  Then you will be the birthday girl.  But tomorrow is Gloria's birthday, and she will be the birthday girl.'

'That's how it is, Alice,' said Frances.  'Your birthday is always the one that is not now.'"

And then there were the Sweet Pickles collection of books.  Circa 1984, I would take a stack of books to the pasture and read them to my calf named Mooney.  He enjoyed our little story time.  I feel like I personally know the alphabetical list of characters inside the front cover of each book.  I would pay $1000 to own these books again.

I specifically remember the day I swore I would never read a book that didn't include pictures.  What a boring concept!  But the years went on, and I started dreaming of best friends, sleepovers and talking on the phone for hours.  I longed for friends as loyal as the girls in The Babysitters Club.

When the acne started and everyone but me had a boyfriend, I would sneak a Sweet Valley High book into my room.  My Mom didn't want me to read books about romance so it was a rare occasion; but the ones I managed to get past Mom were read repeatedly while I daydreamed about my Knight in Shining Armor.

Finally, boys and friends took over my reading time for several years as I lived the drama and romance I had read about for so long.  It wasn't nearly as fun as the authors made it sound.

And then I did find my Knight in Shining Armor.  And within a couple years of being married, we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our baby prince.  The friends in our apartment complex threw me a baby shower, where I was given this book.  I took it home afterward and set it on top of the nursery dresser along with a couple toys.  Ryan and I stood in the room that night, dreaming of the day we would bring home our precious boy.

I was so proud to own a book to read to my baby!  I was taking all the advice I could get, and the magazines told me that "good mothers" read to their baby for at least 20 minutes a day.  I diligently rocked that sweet chubby bundle while reading him this book over and over.  I can still recite every word by memory, starting with "A cow says moo.  A sheep says baa.  Three singing pigs say la la la!  No no, you say, that isn't right!  The pigs say oink all day and night."

We were so poor.  I look back on those years with fond memories but can't for the life of me figure out how we put food on the table every day.  My garage sale obsession began.  On Saturday mornings I rode through wealthy neighborhoods with Tiffany and my Mom, looking for cheap kid items to entertain my growing boy.  I bought this book at a sale and began the tradition of reading it to Brevan before bed.

When Brevan was about 18 months old, I discovered the Lehi Library.  Why had a free public library not occurred to this dirt-poor mom before then?  We began frequenting the library a few times a week, which lasted until this past year when all my kids are now in school reading books they get from the school library.  The years went by too fast.  I want to go back in time and experience holding each of my toddlers on my lap while I read them a bedtime story.

During the library years (when I didn't have a strong connection with a certain book because we were constantly exchanging them for new ones), fate stepped in.  I brought Llama Llama Red Pajama home in our library bag, and a light returned to my life.

How could I not fall in love with Baby Llama, who wears pajamas, loves his Mama, and causes lots of drama?  A llama love was born the first time I read these pages:

Now . . . this book must be read with MUCH pizazz.  The major temper tantrum Baby Llama throws should be dramatized by the reader (me) with actual stomping and screaming.  But when Mama scoops him into her arms to explain that Llama needs to be quiet when she's on the phone, the reader (me) must scoop up my own Llama and hug them until they want to pop.

Llama Llama Red Pajama rekindled my love affair.  After purchasing the first book, I purchased this one.

Llama is off to his first day of preschool!  He's going to miss his Mama, and his Mama is going to miss HIM!  I'm not sure I ever made it through this book without a tear falling.  My own little Llamas were growing so quickly and (hopefully) missing me (just a little bit??) when I dropped them off at the big scary preschool.

"Don't be sad, new little llama.

It's OK to miss your mama.

But don't forget - when day is through,

She will come right back to you!"

In the next purchased book (because Llama books are far too great to merely borrow from the library),  Llama has to stay home with Mama because he's a sick little guy.  When he finally starts feeling better, Mama comes down with the sickness!  

"Mama makes a big ah-choo!

Llama's out of things to do.

Uh-oh, Mama's throat is sore!

Being sick is such a bore!

Soggy tissues, gobs of guck

Sniffing, snorting, sneezing . . . yuck!"

Then Anna Dewdney knew I needed a Llama book for Christmas several years ago, so she wrote one about holiday drama (just for me, I assume).  

"Stringing lights is not much fun.

How come Mama isn't done?

Is the big day coming soon?

Llama llama starts to swoon.

Sometimes we should take a rest.

And hold the ones we love the best."

Now there is a new Llama book that NEEDS to live on our bookshelf.  One about a BULLY GOAT!  Oh, I just squealed with delight when I saw the cover!

"Gilroy snickers, laughs and kicks

Gilroy tosses toys and sticks

Gilroy stomps on Llama's coat

Gilroy is a BULLY GOAT!"

But wait . . . wasn't there another book I borrowed from the library one time where Llama does not want to go to the Shop-o-rama with Mama so he pouts in the cart before throwing a full-blown fit?  Ahhh, yes!  I MUST own this one as soon as possible!  It's all I want for my birthday.  Seriously.  Hint hint.

'Yucky music, great big feet.

Ladies smelling way too sweet.

Look at knees and stand in line.

Llama llama starts to whine."

Of course, I do still love to read books that are above an 8-year-old's reading level.  These are some of my favorites from the past few years:

Most of my reading these days consists of boring junk like this that I have to read for school:

Blahbiddy, blah blah, blah.  I bet this man has never even read a Llama book, so he can not be trusted.