My 10-year-old son walked up to me the other day and said, "Mom, remember when we read that book about the four kids who go to that house for the summer and meet that boy?"
Of course I remembered. He was referring to "The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy" by Jeanne Birdsall. Two summers ago, I read it aloud to my kids several nights a week. I remember them fighting for positions next to me on my king size bed as they crowded around me while I read.
My son continued, "Remember you said that there was another book about the Penderwicks? Do you think maybe we could read it this summer?"
This coming from a kid who is way too cool of late to hug me, to tell me he loves me - such gestures are beneath his new maturity level. But when it comes to listening to me read, he still fights for prime position next to me.
Guess who's heading out lickety-split to get the next book? Actually, I found out that there are now two more Penderwick books: "The Penderwicks on Gardam Street" and "The Penderwicks at Point Mouette."
The books are delightful, the time with kids huddled around me even more so.
I don't experience great mom moments as often as I'd like, but summer reading with the kids is most definitely in that category. I can't wait.