What delights a kid is often delightful in itself. This evening Middle Weed asked if we could watch a movie, a thing he's taken to asking a lot. I said we'd overdosed on movies during Christmas break and he should read instead.
This brought his usual protest: "I've already read every book in this house that even slightly interests me. Many times." Which is a little bit true, though he judges books by their covers and doesn't realize how many things that would interest him are in the upstairs library, as opposed to his room.
"Why not read the Hobbit?" says I.
"Nonsense. You listened when Dad read it to the older kids, but you were too young for it. You should read it on your own now. I promise you'll love it. Here, get your brother, and we can read it aloud together."
He was willing enough, though maybe not thrilled --until I poured myself a glass of wine because to narrate a chapter as long as a Hobbit chapter and do all the throaty dwarf voices requires proper lubrication.
"Mom!" say he, with a sudden gleam in his eye. "May I pour a drink into one of those special glasses and drink it in the living room, too?"
Ordinarily I would not risk my wine glasses nor my carpet, but I could see he was thinking about dwarves and goblets, so I assented. So he and his younger brother poured themselves the last of the Christmas egg nog, toasted --and took such pleasure from the permission and this simple act of entering imaginatively into the story that I was completely charmed.
We read two chapters. Or rather, I read a chapter and the boys wanted to continue but my voice was worn out, so Middle Weed read the second. They were sort of game for a third, but we'd all suddenly grown drowsy so I had them stop.
Later Middle Weed comes up and asks, "Mom, may I read ahead?"
Hehehe. He's hooked, just as I planned.
No more begging for movies for a couple of days now. And soon the Lord of the Rings shall follow.