Yesterday, I did two preschool story times. During the first one, I read "How the Grinch Stole Christmas." A boy in the back of the room stared at me and the book with an incredibly concentrative face for the entire story. When I was done, he paused for a moment, and then looked at his teacher and said, "I don't think I like that guy."
In the second, I read "Humphrey's First Christmas," about a camel who has lost his blanket and is forced to carry huge, heavy (actually tiny and not so heavy) casks to Bethlehem. It's adorable and beautifully illustrated and in the end, he gives his newly acquired blanket to baby Jesus. Afterwards, a child said that he had a baby at home, so of course half a dozen others have to pipe up and tell me about there babies. When ever one has something, the rest have to have it too. So it went on like that: "I have a baby brother." "I have baby Riley." "My baby is a girl." Until I noticed a quiet little girl in the back, sitting with her hand in the air. So I pointed to her, and said, "Yes, sweetie?" And she said, "I don't have a baby." I was just getting ready to say "Oh, that's ok," or "I don't have a baby either," when she, quite satisfied, followed it up with, "But I have a watch."
I love kids.
