Then last night, as hubby was getting the boys ready for bed, I heard, “Go find Mrs. Collywobbles. Let’s read Mrs. Collywobbles.”
And then, “I can’t find it, Dad.”
“Keep looking. Maybe it’s behind the bed.”
I got that sinking feeling. You know, the one where you suddenly realize you did something wrong and now you have to admit it to everyone.
“Um, guys. Bad news. I returned it to the library. It was due.”
(Okay, the part about it being due was a half lie. I could have renewed it. But I just wanted to return as many books as I could find because we’re always close to the thirty-book limit. There are always twenty-something library books around our house, and I was trying to decrease that number.)
There was a collective moan of disappointment.
“That wasn’t our book?” hubby asked. “It was a library book?”
We’d been reading it so long, over and over, that it seemed like it belonged to us.
So today I bought it: Beware of the Frog by William Bee, starring Mrs. Collywobbles and her little pet frog, so that hubby can keep reading, night after night, in his best ogre voice, “Dum-dee-dum. Dum-dee-dummy. I’ve got a very, very hungry tummy.”
What books are essential at your house, whether for the kids or yourself, fiction or nonfiction?