I realized something today: I freaking LOVE books--the look, the smell, the feel, the everythingness of them. Nick (the handsome hubby), Scarlett (the rowdy toddler) and I went downtown on a rainy Sunday afternoon and stopped at the used bookstore. I've been there many times and have carted home many a book with a penciled price inside the front cover, but today was different. When I saw the neat, heaping piles of multi-category books (Madeline next to Mooncake on top of Nancy Drew under Berenstain Bears!), my first instinct was to knock them all down and roll around in them like Scrooge McDuck and his money. I wanted ALL of them and I wanted to mind-meld with my baby and download every incredible word I've ever read from them to her. Right now! But that isn't practical or (outside of the occasional daydream where I have Vulcan abilities) possible. Besides, that would rob us of the best part of parent-toddler reading time: the snuggle. So, I propose the next best thing--we will read Scarlett a different book every day for an entire year and then tell you how it went. Suggestions?
