...why I bought all those $1 Dover paperbacks and covered them carefully with contact paper--so Helen could pull the whole stack of Thornton W. Burgess children's classics down several times a day. She de-books the shelves regularly. I'm not sure whether she is delighting in pure badness or if she is searching for just the right story. Several weeks ago, she latched onto Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George, and paged through it very seriously on the recliner. Her attachment to that particular book lasted for several days. I became interested in it, and she grew territorial.
On another literary front, Owen is listening to Little House in the Big Woods. He snuggles into me while I read, and points at the pictures. "What's thay-at?" he asks in his cute southern accent. He is very interested in Laura, Mary, Ma and Pa, and their life in the woods of Wisconsin. Helen, however, tries to distract us while I read. Yesterday she threw toys up in the air and laughed a bad little laugh, then threw a sideways glance to see if she had our attention.