As I write this Leo is whimpering in his room. It is almost 9 p.m. and my goodness were those children wound up tonight.
Erin is stuck in horrific Friday night New York City traffic so I was on my own for this round.
Bedtime has become an Olympic Sport in our house. It involves a lot of acrobatic manuevers in Leo's room where there is not one, but two beds, much to the delight of Ellie. Her favorite thing is to climb Leo's toddler bed and stand on it, giving me several small heart attacks a night (I DO NOT need another emergency room visit). Leo has graduated to a twin bed and inertia has prevented us from doing anything with the toddler bed. Afterall, Ellie will need it...eventually.
I have been trying hard to read to both of them before bed but when they're together they seem to egg each other on with their energy and books are absolutely the last thing on their minds. But on Sunday I heard a wonderful program on This American Life where they said the single most important thing you can do for your child's intelligence is to read to them (Little Einstein and black and white baby mobiles be damned). Not exactly news to me, but validating nonetheless, as well as inspiring. Reading is easy and fun and cheap!
If this is true, Ellie is in trouble and she's well on her way to becoming an illiterate gymnast (she much prefers tumbling off that toddler bed to flipping through books by Boynton).
Leo has always been such a good reader. He loved to sit in my lap and flip through board books, almost from the start. Now, with the the two of them together, reading is a disaster! I will persevere. What else can I do?
PS. Erin finally came home. We caved and she went to lie down with him. Out like a light. When did bedtime become such a battle?
1 comment:
Oh gosh, I was so great about reading with my older daughter. Went to the library every week and picked out books and all that. Then came Kayla. I think it has more to do with her autism than Down syndrome, but she refuses to share in the joy of sharing a book together. She'll grab it and throw it on the ground or cry hysterically when I try to snuggle with her with a book. Or she'll just totally ignore me if I try to read her a book while she's in the same room. Yet I always catch her, when left alone, picking out a book from one of the piles laying around the house. She'll sit on the couch and flip through them babbling contentedly. I just wish she would do it with me.
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