Chapter Books and other things I never thought of:

Today I read Sam a couple of chapters out of a new book that was gifted to us by a friend. I thought we were so awesome, Paul and I, reading our kids a thousand picture books a day. Filling their minds with beautiful illustrations and words. Apparently at some point though, you are supposed to 'graduate' to chapter books and we missed the boat, or were about to.

We started reading Sam, Diary of Wimpy Kid when he was about six months old, to save our sanity, but everything since then seemed too heavy. He wasn't quite ready for the creepiness of James and the Giant Peach or the death in Charlottes Web, or maybe we're not ready for that with him. There is already so much of that waiting in the world, that we believe we'd like to let him be three for a bit. Just freaking three.

Then recently the words "chapter books" had been flashing before my eyes like signs from God. I glimpse a friends blog and see "chapter books," I meet a new friend, "chapter books," I splash water in my face and peer into the mirror, "chapter books!" AHHHHH! Where did we go wrong?

We didn't. We're just late bloomers, always have been.

Today a friend gave us the first book in a *neon lights* chapter book *neon lights* series, The Magic Treehouse. Sam and I put Peter down for a nap and curled up on my bed to read "just two chapters." Because that's what we have to say now, not "just two books." Oh my baby is growing up! We began to read and my little boy who usually can't wait to find what is on the next page and scans the images, placing them just so with the story, just gazed out the window, listening, dreaming. No pictures, you see, ok maybe just a few. I wondered how he'd react. Between words and pauses I'd catch a glimpse of him laying back in his dad's spot on our bed a tattered blanket just standing by now, instead of providing comfort, his school uniform shirt still on, imagining himself climbing a giant rope ladder to a magic tree house, meeting a real, live Pteranodon.

We've entered a new stage and shouldn't these stages always be marked by what kind of book you are reading? "Oh sweet, how old is your son?" Me: "He reads chapter books."