Singing with Sylvia for Christmas

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 Singing with Sylvia for Christmas

retro reading

retro reading
My one-year-old's favourite books at the moment were my favourite books when I was his age.  Yes, THE actual books that my mother read to me.

Mom saved most of our childhood toys and books with the hopes that her grandchildren would also enjoy them.

(By the way, she also saved her polyester maternity clothes for 34 years with the hopes that I would wear them! They did make a great prego Halloween costume. "Who are you?" the trick-or-treaters asked. "I'm my mom when she was pregnant with me."  Blank stares generally followed. Too deep for the candy-carrying crowd, I guess.)

I'm not sure about all of her 1970s treasures, but the storage space monopolized by these three books, in particular, was well worth it.

The books are well-worn and are coming unbound. Two are vintage Hallmark pop-ups that are easily torn, so they sit on a high shelf unlike the rest of J's newer, sturdier board books.

Yet, every day he stretches up on his tippy-toes and points to where they are.

When I pull them down, he starts smiling and squealing.

We sit together and read each one from front to back, and then we go through them all a second time just to talk about the pictures and have him point out the things he recognizes from his developing vocabulary.

Some days I admittedly think to myself, "These books again?" But, there are more and more times, like today, when I get misty thinking about the countless hours I would have spent with my mother reading these very books, how fleeting these moments really are in the span of a lifetime, and how much I cherish these moments with my own child.
These books undoubtedly will have a special place in the treasure chest that I will keep for when baby J becomes a daddy.

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