I wasn't going to, and don't usually, buy Munch Christmas gifts "from your parents". She gets presents from Santa and a whole deluge of grandparent, relative, and friend gifts that I don't see the need for additional gifts with the specific designation "from your mama".
But this year my almost-four-year-old is getting Poetry for Young People: Robert Frost, Poetry for Young People: Emily Dickinson, and Poetry for Young People: Walt Whitman.
These are from me, to her, and we are going to read them together. Maybe.
I know. I know. I estimate a 70% likelihood that she will refuse to participate in the poetry reading sessions unless a significant bed time delay can be extracted from her participation. But it's a trade negotiation that I might actually be willing to enter because I am curious about these books myself. I think in the end I will read the books alone and put them away for when she is older.
Wait. Did I just hear you vomit in your mouth? Come on.
I'm not that bad.
Wow got an early Christmas present this year. LD wanted to start biking the two kids into school in the morning, for which the little guy was short the standard noggin protector. We bought a helmet and let him "open" it yesterday morning.
He was as unimpressed as I suspect Munch will be by the poetry books.
Despite what would seem like a callus disregard for what children actually want to open on Christmas morning (although DID YOU NOTICE the bike has pictures of the Disney princesses and actually says "Princess" in white italicized writing on the side? FANCY. LD wanted a unisex bike that Wow could ride too. It was me, mean old mom, who lobbied for this bike, Munch, a fact I will not let you forget so soon...) one of my colleagues deemed me worthy of a little something that I found in my box at work today.
Thanks Sarah. It's perfect.