The Steady Home: A Legacy of Literature

Reading rituals I’ll protect.

A Legacy of Literature

I once told my daughter that I won’t just get her anything she wants. But if she asks for a book, I’ll say yes every time. Sometimes we check it out at the library, sometimes I’ll just go ahead and purchase it. But I’ll never say no to books. Kyle took this to mean this privilege applies to him, too.

So much so, that one day when he has completed his career in the Navy and we are ready to settle in our forever home, I suspect a large library will need to be at the top of our Zillow search terms.

I love to read. But in this season, I find it very easy to fill my time with anything else. Thankfully life has a way of nudging us back to what we value. The kids need to know that we not only support their literary interest, but nurture our own as well.

Monkey see, monkey do.

Well to maintain this little circus, we’ve implemented a “quiet reading half hour” at the end of the evening.

TV off, phones down, books out. Suddenly the loudness of our day is juxtaposed by a stillness, punctuated with the soft sounds of pages turning. My eldest daughter is already there, flipping up the dog ear she creased earlier that day. She’s curled up in a blanket, whispers of expressions flashing across her face as she subconsciously reacts to the world unfolding before her. My six year old son has a stack of early reader phonics books on his lap. He slowly and quietly sounds out each word. He looks over at me proudly with that tongue out-smile and kicking his legs when he decodes a particularly difficult word, eagerly waiting on my wink and smile. My rambunctious four year old clumsily plops down with “I Spys” or books that have been read to him a hundred times, his sweet mumblings reciting the memorized words in the same prose with which we read to him.

I might get a couple pages in, between my eight month old slapping the once-crisp, now-soggy pages with her slobbery little hand.

But mostly, I’m watching them. I realize the goal isn’t simply to increase their consumption of the written word. It’s to associate reading with love. Coziness. The spiritual safety of our home. We’re all reading different books, but the connection in the living room is palpable, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. It may only last thirty minutes. But almost every time we say, “Ok! Time to brush teeth,” it’s met with “Oh wait, please just one more chapter, Mom!” or “Ok, one sec! I just have to finish this page, Daddy!”

So I’ll buy the books. I’ll have grace for the crowded bookshelves that can’t even fit a slip of paper. I won’t groan when I find book jackets on the floor. I’ll tape tattered cardboard spines that have been worn from overuse. I’ll quietly pay that fee for the overdue library book that has somehow been sucked into the abyss.

As long as it helps keep this ritual alive.

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Sunday Dinner:

• Pan seared duck breast with cherry sauce

• Duck fat roasted potatoes

• Sautéed green beans

• Salad with gingerbread croutons, pecans, roasted beets, and goat cheese.

Warm spices, bright citrus notes, and rich flavors felt especially nourishing when juxtaposed to the snow falling quietly outside last Sunday evening. I’m squeezing out the last of these hearty winter meals before spring breaks through in a few weeks.