It was our first trip on the Sky Train. We wanted to test drive using the Canada Line, and the library was only a few blocks from one of the stops. So, off we went. Although I’ve used the metro in DC, public transportation kind of scares me. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know the routes, what if I get on the wrong train…Of course these fears are silly, especially now that I’ve ridden the Sky Train again and again and I realize Evelyn could probably figure it out on her own. Anyhow, we made it to our destination, took the two elevators necessary to get to street level, and as the doors opened to the the corner of Granville and Georgia, we were greeted by traffic, street vendors selling sausages and hot dogs, a homeless man playing a harmonica, orange vested girls handing out free candy bars and a flock of pigeons just hanging out. City life.
We walked the few blocks it took to get the Vancouver Public Library, and man, is this building impressive in stature. It’s a far cry from the one story Gaithersburg Public Library that houses my memories growing up. The bottom level is devoted entirely to kids, with several play areas and coloring stations, and of course, rows and rows and rows of books. I could see both Evelyn’s and Theo’s eyes light up as soon as the elevator doors parted.
I’ve often wondered, since Evelyn was probably around 1 and could communicate on some level, when she would take a real interest in reading. Being the book worm I was growing up, I hoped she would pick up my love for words and books and experience the thrill of immersing yourself in a really good story. She would look at the pictures for a few minutes and then get bored. This was her routine up until really recently. Right around the time we started going to this huge library on a regular basis, she all of the sudden began to take more of an interest in actually hearing the stories. She took the time to listen. For this girl, that is almost a miracle seeing as every time we are at the park I have to pretend to leave her to make her come because she won’t listen to me otherwise. My thinking is that motivating by fear is a lot easier than carrying a 35 pound sack of screaming, dead weight. Thing is most days I still end up having to go back and get her, because she doesn’t seem to care one little bit that I’ve “left.” I guess she has me figured out. It’s a work in progress.
When we aren’t playing mind games with one another and she is being a sweet, submissive child, I do love to sit and read with her. It’s our thing, as of late. I love that she will come to me with a stack of books that she can barely carry and ask me to read to her with such enthusiasm. She’ll nuzzle into me, making it kind of hard to hold the book and turn the pages, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love how she loves certain stories, and will want to read them over and over again. I love that we now share a love for Dr. Seuss and see who can say “There’s a Wocket in my Pocket!” the funniest. I especially love how she tries to memorize the story and placement of words, and tries her little hardest to read along with me. It usually just comes out as mutterings and a few choice words she has down pat, but it’s pretty cute. Lastly, I love that she is actually learning and applying these stories to her own life. So often as a parent you wonder if anything you say is actually being taken in. Saying the same thing 27 times a day with no results can be discouraging. But the other day we were at the store and she told me she had a “tickle in her belly.” At first I dismissed it, barely understanding what she was saying. But a few minutes later she was still saying the same thing, but now bending over and holding her stomach so it finally clicked that she had to use the potty, and was actually telling me! This is a big deal for us, as the potty has been of absolutely no interest to her until really recently. Normally I wouldn’t really care, but changing two sets of diapers was getting old. Anyhow, one of our library books is about Ian’s new potty, and how he has a “tickle in his belly” whenever he has to, you know, go. And guess what, go she did. But thankfully not on the floor. We managed to make it to the bathroom in time. Winner’s Homesense on Cambie Street is now apart of Evelyn’s personal potty success story.
And there you have it, folks. Books about pee and poo and pottys that, ironically, make a real difference in our lives. Or at least mine. And on that note which solidifies the fact that I couldn’t be more of a mom, I’m out.