Mine, All Mine!

Having nothing at all to do with Valentine's Day.

There is a fairly strict bedtime routine at the SuperM house. Little boys must be ready for bed by 8, but they can read until 8:30. Yes, we're very strict. Little girls go to bed even earlier.

A while back, when we were trying to convince him to become a full-fledged independent reader, Mr. Personality started taking his reading time in our bed. Mostly, this was because he and Universe Man were arguing over who got to sit in the blue chair in their room otherwise, but then again, Mr. Personality never wants to be alone, and sometimes your brother doesn't count as another person.

So Mr. Personality mostly reads before bed in our room, and lately he's been going through one of those "downs" in his reading. Last weekend he was reading Harry Potter, and this week he's been reading picture books. I suspect it might be the kid equivalent of reading a trashy romance novel or a thriller. Because I am a neurotic mother, this drives me nuts, and tonight he wanted to read the picture book I had just read to his baby sister, she of the short attention span at bedtime. Lo and behold, on the floor in his bedroom (which is not where it belongs) was a book I remembered fondly from my own childhood. An easier read than Harry Potter, but definitely an appropriate book for Mr. Personality.

I gave him the book. He told me he didn't want to read it. He finished the picture book and wanted something else to read. I handed him the book. Evidently, it met with his approval, because the next time I looked at him, he was deep in the book.

And the next time. And 10 minutes after that. By this point, it's 8:25 or so and I ask him to find a "stop spot" (family lingo for finding a place to put down whatever it is you're doing, usually referring to books, computer games, or knitting).

He ignores me (also SOP in this family where books are concerned). I get distracted. By now it's 8:40, and I ask him what happened to his stop spot. He continues to read. I remind him that it's a big day at school tomorrow, which it is. He keeps reading.

Finally, I see that he's turned the page to start a new chapter. I remove the book from his hands, sparking a vehement (but tired) protest.

He. Can't. Stop. Reading. The. Book.

He's my child all right.

Mine. All mine.