the books you should read

Ok so I sometimes struggle to know where to guide my girls with their reading. But it is important to me so I don’t mind the struggle. My middle daughter went up to junior school this year and I had to make a fuss about the books they were sending her home with. She has problems with handwriting and so because they didn’t know her they assumed she was weak. SHE IS NOT!

However she likes an easy life, she likes to be babied too and she hates to give up any books to her youngest sister. Last summer she graduated from Michael Morpugo’s Mud puddle Farm series when she discovered her elder sister’s copies of Diary Of a Wimpy kid, because it had a mix of text and cartoon she loved them. I had to investigate children’s literature for similar books. Now she reads Jacqueline Wilson, David Walliams and Roald Dahl. Today I finally moved all the Lauren Child’s and Julia Donaldson’s to the youngest’s room .

My eldest child is also an avid reader, she loves Harry Potter and Malory Towers / St Clares. Her teacher says her writing is “old fashioned” I think that means she calls her characters things like Felicity and Gwendoline and they all love cream buns and ginger beer. I was never a big Blyton Fan. I am responsible for Harry Potter and Little Women though. She has given up on Anne of Green Gables – a book I lived for at her age, she has also lost my WEE FREE MEN – a Terry Pratchett novel for younger readers.

Sometimes I cheat and if they really won’t read the books I think they should, I read them as bed time stories. One particular example is Alice in Wonderland. My husband has done the same… or maybe I set him up, I am probably the more cunning and Machiavellian of parents…anyway, he really enjoyed Danny Champion of the World and Stig of the Dump. The Dancing Bear by Michael Morpugo was a lovely surprise, the first venture into an episodic bed time story which resulted in him coming downstairs in floods of tears. ( if you haven’t read this story do not read further) 

“The bear dies” he gasped, finally.

“Are they ok?” I asked aghast.

“They’re fine, “ he replied, “I’m not”

He recovered and went on to read more books to them and for a man who claim,s quite rightly , never to read novels , I think it has done him the world of good.

I had to buy books that were no longer in print ( Jacob Two Two and the Hooded Claw, Elephants don’t sit on Cars) in order to share my childhood favourites. I’m not keen on Ratburger , but the girls loved it. I am hoping to try an old story my mum gave me years ago, based in Herefordshire called The TangleWood Secret and then I’m going to sneak some Terry Pratchett in if I can find where she’s hidden it!

reading at bedtime routine

The bedtime routine used to be so simple and strictly adhered to. CBeebies bed time story in pjs, wash, teeth, snuggle into bed and negotiate the number of bed time stories to be read. Then my eldest children turned into bookworms and, more often than not, I was reading aloud and they were reading something else. I gave up, I gave them 30 minutes reading time before lights out. I thought it would be calming. It certainly calmed me, until I realised that they were insisting on the landing light being left on, not because of fear of the dark but because they were shuffling down to the foot of the bed and squinting at their reading books for another sneaky half an hour. I was cross, but how do you tell a child off for reading?

Our five year old usually picks daddy at bedtime, she can twist the poor man round her little finger and he will reread her stories, I only get to do it if he is out. Then I realised something – I missed it! I tried to reintroduce it, I failed.

I dallied with Little Women and stuck to one chapter an evening, except not every evening. We read about half of it.

I had better luck with Alice in Wonderland, although I did skip The Caucaus race and the Mock Turtle chapters. I started  Through the Looking Glass and someone hid the book. I can take a hint, Thank you.

How did I stray away from the bedtime routine? It’s important! My mother would only read a tiny bit to me and then sidle out of the room leaving me to read to myself, because I was “such a good reader” at an early age, I vividly recalled the loneliness and disappointment I felt. I would even try to choose a book I thought she liked. I’m not criticising my mum at all, she was seeking precious moments of solace in an unhappy marriage that wouldn’t last for many more years. However this has always been in my mind when it comes to reading to my children.

This week I have made another, concerted effort. I was inspired by the fact that the eldest child was selecting books for her younger sister to try, now that Diary of The Wimpy Kid series has finally fallen to pieces. They chose David Walliams’ Ratburger. I am reading two chapters a night in order to get to the end of it before I run out of steam. It’s not bad, it’s just not Roald Dahl, even though Quentin Blake has illustrated it. However by the second night, my eldest child (9 going on 19) put aside whatever Jaqueline Wilson/ Cath Cassidy/ Jean Ure book she was reading and crept down the bunk steps to snuggle up and listen too.

Tonight, their dad is working late. I’m taking youngest to bed and reading her stories until she tells me to “Go!” Then I will snuggle up on the bottom bunk and read Ratburger. Next week: Roald Dahl returns!