I'll fight you for the library

"What do these children do without storybooks?" Naftali asked.

And Reb Zebulun replied: "They have to make do.  

Storybooks aren't bread.  You can live without them."

"I couldn't live without them," Naftali said.

Isaac Bashevis Singer, Naftali the Storyteller and His Horse, Sus

We have a problem at our house.  OK, we probably have tons of problems, but the problem that we have today is about books.  See, around here, we like books.  I mean we REALLY like books.  As in, they are everywhere and refuse to be contained by bookshelves; as in, I feel like an awful parent because I am constantly telling my children that I can't read to them, but we really spend hours everyday reading; as in, my oldest has read all the age-appropriate books multiple times and wants something new.

He's a good reader, and comprehends well, but he's still seven, and his empathy is kicking in big time.  So he gets too involved and won't read if the emotions in a story get too intense.  So he blows through the easier books, but isn't quite ready to read the harder ones.  I am having a hard time having enough books around the house for him.  (I know, boo-hoo, right?)  This is where the library comes in.

I love the library.  I love going to the library.  I love bringing new books home from the library.  Books that I can't wait to crack open, so many books that I can't decide which to read first.

I love taking my kids to the library, even though it is sometimes a hassle.  I love being able to walk with my son to a certain point and then say "that way" and he finds himself suddenly surrounded by so many of his dearest friends that he doesn't have arms long enough to hold them; the boxcar children, Encyclopedia Brown, Junie B., he wants them all.  And then I know I won't be able to get his attention without getting between him and his book for at least a week.

I also don't love the library.  Because it is a hassle to remind four small children not to re-shelve the books any which way like we do at home, or to keep them from all wandering in different directions, or to keep them from thinking five movies that are all due back earlier than the books is a good idea.  Also, as soon as we get the books home I have to find a special place in our already crowded bookshelves to hold the new ones, but also keep them separate so that we can return them on time.  Also, they love the books so much it is sometimes hard to get them to give them back again, or to get them to stop sleeping with the books (and maybe not wetting the bed at the same time, huh?  Don't worry.  I threw that book away and just paid for it.)

But I'm looking forward to spending a lot of time this summer curled up with my babies and their books.  If I'm lucky, I may squeeze a couple of my own in there.  And I'm hoping that you will forgive me if you come over to our house to find it a disaster area. Maybe it will sound charming, like this passage from Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke: (even a mess sounds better when you read about it in a book)

Meggie tugged him along the corridor so impatiently that he stubbed his toe on a pile of books, which was hardly surprising.  Stacks of books were piled high all over the house- not just arranged in neat rows on bookshelves, the way other people kept them, oh no! The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of rooms.  There were books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory.  Books on the TV set and in the closet, small piles of books, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new.  They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages; they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad.  And sometimes you fell over them.

In the meantime, here are some people who talk about the library who are waaaaay more eloquent than I am.

Blog post from the ladies over at Rants from Mommyland:
http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/2010/11/borrowing-from-libraryand-life.html


Slam poetry from Taylor Mali:
(Really, you should spend the rest of your night watching/listening to his poetry)