When I was a child, my father would read to us. In the evening after dinner and homework, we would brush our teeth, wash our hands, change into our pajamas, and cuddle into my parents' big bed as my father led us into the world of literary wonder. My first introduction to Tolkien was when he read us The Hobbit and I remember continuing my travels in Middle Earth through the Lord of the Rings saga. The War of the Worlds scared us three little girls so much that it was stopped. We asked my father to read Heidi to us after Worlds, but that was discontinued too after Heidi made the strangest asides that had nothing to do with the story.
That time is one of my most favorite memories, and probably the beginning of many nights spent reading instead of sleeping.
So this evening, after Edwin was put to bed, Brandon suggested that we get the girls ready for bed and he would read to them. Kathleen is reading Little House in the Big Woods for her reading lesson, and she and Sophia have taken to it like any two little girls would.
And so after pajamas were donned and teeth brushed and blankies fetched, the girls cuddled into bed with Brandon for some more 'Laura and Mary,' as Sophia calls the book. I left them to it, and snuck off for some time alone (with my freshly-charged laptop). I never remember my mother taking part in the book-reading, and now I know why.
After half an hour of quiet, I suddenly heard Brandon's voice, followed by the girls giggling with hilarity.
"See Any UFOs? Not yet. Well, keep your eyes open, they're bound to land here sometime. What will we do when they come? See if we can sell mom and dad into slavery for a star cruiser."
I realized that the reading material had switched, and instead of great classic children's literature, they were now reading Calvin and Hobbes. But I suppose that's what happens when Dad does the story reading.