His Mother Called Him Wild Thing

For the longest time, Owen's favorite bedtime book was Where the Wild Things Are. He knew the whole thing by heart, and sometimes, he'd recite it as I turned the pages, or he'd follow along in our second copy of the book while I read the other one, or he'd just listen intently and then giggle at the "roared their terrible roars" part. Though we haven't read it in several months. it's still one of my favorites to read together.

So today, Nora and I were sitting in the kitchen reading books and Owen was playing on the computer. She was bringing in book after book and then plopping down on my lap. I'm sure I was supposed to be doing something else, but how could I resist?

The third book she grabbed was Where the Wild Things Are. I started reading, and was impressed as Nora correctly pointed out the moon (a great leap from her assertion last week that it was a "ball"). But I was also curious if Owen would hear us and come in. By the time we got to the part where the wild rumpus starts, I was convinced Owen was ignoring us. But then, just as the smells started drifting in from far away across the world, Owen burst into the kitchen and told me to "stop." He wanted to hear the end of the story. Course, he wanted me to wait for him to go back and finish typing the alphabet and then finish the story, but it was enough just to know that he wanted to hear it.

It's a funny thing, being needed. Sometimes, I just want to break free of that unremitting responsibility, but you get used to it, and the thought of NOT being needed is scary, too.

But, I don't have to worry about that today. He's still my little boy who loves Where the Wild Things Are.