John is the master story teller of the family. Since the boys were babies, he's always been the primary bed time reader. Recently, John began reading the Chronicles of Narnia series (C.S. Lewis)to the boys. At first I thought reading more complex novels to them would be information overload, and they would quickly lose interest. But the boys were hooked after the first chapter of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and the pre-bed time adventures have continued ever since.
One reason for John's success is he is always willing to patiently answer the hundreds of questions the boys ask throughout the story (unlike my not-so-patient self). He consistently animates his voice with specific tones for each of the characters. (I'm surprised he didn't lose his voice after performing with high pitched, squeaky voices for the girl characters).
Impressed with this new bed time ritual, one day I decided to participate and support John's effort by volunteering to read part of the story to the kids. I barely made it through one paragraph and was immediately fired by my own children:
"You don't read as good as Daddy", said one twin, followed by "I don't want you to read to us anymore, I'll wait for Dad", from the other.
Okaaay. I can be mature about this. I can take constructive criticism from five-year-olds. In fact, maybe I'll have John read my own novel out loud to me. (You know, the one that's been sitting on my night stand, untouched for three months).
John and I have both figured out areas of parenting where one parent excels over the other. While I am more likely to remember things like checking the kids' bed sheets and clipping their finger nails, John definitely takes the lead when it comes to reading out loud to them. And as much effort as he puts into this task, I'm happy to let him have it!
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