The first book I owned was Richard Scarry’s Nursery Tales. My dad read these poems to me over and over, until I could eventually recite every one. Then I would “read” them to myself, dragging my chubby little finger across the pages under the words.
I was two.
I have so many fond memories of getting up in the middle of the night to read. I know a lot of kids got into trouble for getting out of bed at night, but my mom and dad were always cool about it. So I try to be cool, too, when I head downstairs at midnight, pillow under one arm and novel under the other, only to find my son curled up in my favorite reading spot.
Fun Daily Prompt!
writemybrainsout 
2 thoughts on “Midnight memories”