Wimpy Kid P.S.

As O. makes his way through the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books (we're waiting for number four to become available at our local library), Roo has come up with her own toddlerspeak way of asking her brother to read this particular title to her. Since "diary" means nothing to her, she replaces it with a near-homophone that does have meaning for her. And since her pronunciation of certain consonants is still under construction, she drops the "m" from "wimpy." Thus, in Roo's mouth, Diary of a Wimpy Kid becomes

Diarrhea of a Whippy Kid.

So vivid. So squalid. One shudders to imagine the illustrations in that series.

I'm Kvelling. Just Kvelling.

I couldn't have been happier or prouder the first time I came downstairs and found O. in this attitude:



I've been waiting. And suddenly, here it is: my kid is reading, and totally absorbed in his own book, lost in another world. It's awesome.

(It's also pleasantly quiet around here. Ahhh....)

The first chapter book O. finished on his own was Diary of a Wimpy Kid. And as soon as he finished it, he turned around and started reading it to Roo. I'm sort of amazed that she can sit still for the adventures of a sardonic middle-schooler. But it's a graphic novel, so there are lots of drawings to look at.



I must report, though, that O. is not the only kid around here who reads to littler kids.



It's contagious.