I told Niko that I had blogged about him reading the book (see previous post). He said, "I didn't know you had a blog." I told him I did. So then, a few minutes later, Niko brought me a sack of wood scraps and said, "Blog this!" OK. Here it is. Sack of wood. Plus, there's a little plastic mouse in the sack, which is actually Niko's newest winter cap -- a Spongebob cap.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Luckiest Man on Earth
It's early in the morning, dawn just breaking. Niko is moving back and forth between the dining room table, where milk and toast sit, and the living room, where a whole world of activities are possible. I tell him I'm going to check my email and I move to the office nook on the other side of the kitchen. As I peck at the keyboard, I hear faint sounds from accross the house. Niko talking to himself? After a minute or two, I notice the talking continuing. I sneak through the kitchen and peer through the dining room into the living room. Christmas lights are twinkling all around. And there, in front of the fireplace, sits Niko, reading a book. Saying all the words out loud. Pausing to ponder the plot. Turning pages. Occasionally inflecting his voice to try to match the characters and their actions. What could be better than your five-year-old, on his own, sitting down to read a book? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It's early in the morning, dawn just breaking. Niko is moving back and forth between the dining room table, where milk and toast sit, and the living room, where a whole world of activities are possible. I tell him I'm going to check my email and I move to the office nook on the other side of the kitchen. As I peck at the keyboard, I hear faint sounds from accross the house. Niko talking to himself? After a minute or two, I notice the talking continuing. I sneak through the kitchen and peer through the dining room into the living room. Christmas lights are twinkling all around. And there, in front of the fireplace, sits Niko, reading a book. Saying all the words out loud. Pausing to ponder the plot. Turning pages. Occasionally inflecting his voice to try to match the characters and their actions. What could be better than your five-year-old, on his own, sitting down to read a book? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
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