I helped out at my son's preschool during afternoon snack today. After the kids were done with their snacks, they got ready for outdoor play. Those who were faster than others looked at books until everyone was done. As I cleaned up after them, I watched my son pick out Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. "That's a good book," I said to him with a smile.
So tonight at bedtime, I pulled it from the bookcase and said, "What about this one?" Usually he refuses my suggestions, part of the whole assertion-of-self thing. But tonight I received a big smile and an enthusiastic "OK!"
We climbed into his bed and began to read about Max and his adventures. As I read it, I revelled in the wonderful cadence of the words and the rich illustrations. My son laughed at Max chasing the dog (with a fork!) and quieting the monsters with his fearsome stare.
It was only a few minute, but one of those serendipitous moments when everything else ceased to be a concern and I could just enjoy existing. With my son right by me.