The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another...
Bedtime found Scooter more riled up than usual. He ran naked through the house, refusing to put on his pull-up, insisting he needed pjs and then running away when I approached, yelling wildly, not because he was angry or scared. Just because.
I remained as calm as possible, but sternly demanded that he put on his night-time clothing and settle down for bed. Realizing that I might just skip over a book, he headed over to the shelves. "A short one tonight," I advised. "We've already spent a long time playing around." I nixed a Thomas book--usually I will agree to whatever he chooses, but felt I'd earned the right to read something I'd enjoy.
His hand bumped over a number of books and then stopped. He considered several in a particular clump. I jumped at the opportunity and suggested a particular book from that group.
"How about Where the Wild Things Are?"
And so we read about Max and his mischief and the forest that grew in his room.
Scooter melted into my lap as we both entered Sendak's magical world.
I love this book. And I love it even more now that I get to read it out loud regularly. The words flow together and the rarity of punctuation creates a breathless momentum.
I love Scooter's mock horror as Max chases the dog with a fork, that he nearly read me a few select words tonight, that the wild rumpus is his idea of a good time.
I love that he probably fell asleep imagining that he too might suddenly find his room a forest. And that I will do the same.