I Give Up

There are precious few things I feel expert about.  One of them is books.  I know books.  I have a degree in elementary education.  I took classes in children's literature.  I have read a lot.  All my life.

Nobody cares.

My children go out of their way to avoid my book recommendations.  Out of their way.  Braeden and Emma find their own books and read all the time but Mark...not so much.  He's a different breed, usually not happy unless he's running or spinning or jumping or building with Legos.

And I want him to read.

It's like if I had a child who didn't like chocolate.  I'd constantly be trying to convert them to happiness.

A while ago, in desperation, I took him to the book store (and when your husband works for Amazon.com, you feel a little disloyal at times like that).  I told Mark I'd buy him any book.  A normal person would have been happy about that (and by normal I mean a person like me).   Mark wasn't interested in any of the books.  Any.  How is that possible?  I pointed out several titles (and by several I mean 10,000).  Nope.

Demoralized, I offered to buy him some Calvin and Hobbes comic books.

He wasn't interested.

I bought them anyway.  (He told me he would never read them.)

A few days later, in answer to my plea, Jill sent her son Cal over with a book for Mark to read.  Since Cal isn't me, Mark took the book immediately and read it.  He liked it!   He finished the book in two days, which is something for Mark because he takes few breaks from his running or spinning or jumping or Lego building.  I was thrilled and got on the library's website and reserved other books in the series for him (Jigsaw Jones books). 

And Mark was not at all interested in them.

Then he decided he didn't want to listen to Little House on the Prairie books with me in the van anymore. He's resentful that Mary became blind.

I am SO clever so I put the Jigsaw Jones books in the van one day before we were off to do errands.  When he rejected listening, I'd have a book for him.  I know, how cunning of me.

"Mark, do you want to listen to our book?"

"No."

"Do you want to read a Jigsaw Jones book?"

"No."

"Won't you be bored driving around?"  (Of course he would!  That was key to my brilliant plan!)

"No, I brought this to read."  He showed me the Calvin and Hobbes book.  I should have felt at least a little triumphant about that (since I'd bought it to induce him to read) but I just felt a little defeated.

So we've had a sad little pile of Jigsaw Jones books in our library book basket, mocking me and reminding me of my failure.

Mark has been reading Calvin and Hobbes and he's been reading books that are way too hard for him that are Braeden's.  (He barely gets what's going on in the books.)  Anything except what I'd like him to read.

Yesterday after much cajoling/whining/persuading Mark agreed to read Jigsaw Jones for silent reading time.  He told me he wouldn't like it.  I said fine.

Today, I came downstairs and Mark was sitting on the couch, reading Jigsaw Jones.  I said nothing.  He finished the book.

That's when I made my tactical error.  I gloated.  I said, "See, I knew you'd like it."  (Why can't I keep my mouth shut?)

"I didn't like it," he said.

 There are three ways to get things done: do it yourself, hire someone to do it, or forbid your kids to do it.

- Monta Crane