the other night, i was reading where the wild things are with leo.
he laid there, so engrossed in the story.
making his comments here and there, asking questions, pointing things out.
and all of a sudden something dawned on me. it might be obvious, but i've never really thought about it before. or at least to the degree i did that night.
all he can do is see the pictures and hear the words.
he can't read the words. he can only take in what i say out loud and what his eyes grab from the pictures.
he's not seeing the same words, as i do, each time we read the book. he's listening. to what i say. how i say it. how it relates to the pictures he sees. to the images that lay on the pages.
and it made me actually tell the story. instead of just read the book.
it made me imagine what the words were conveying. it made me imagine what this experience was like for leo. how my words could actually change the pictures. how my pauses... my inflections... my dedication... could all bring to life what he was looking at.
it made me put the words aside. and engross myself, and leo, in a wonderful dose of imagination.
i think it very well might have changed the way i read books to him forever. and i'm so excited.