Chloe and I were at the bookstore some time ago, so that I could better describe the joys of reading a good book.

As we perused the aisles, I came across A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, and I had a flash of nostalgia – I vaguely remembered reading the book as a child, and remembered enjoying it very much.

So we bought it. And we finally started reading it last Friday. This is one I’m reading to her – and we’re up to page 180. And she loves it, mostly. And I’m loving it all over again.

Chloe is very concerned about Charles Wallace, the little brother who is brainwashed by IT during the children’s attempt to save their father. She was afraid that she’d have nightmares last night, but I let her watch some junk TV with me for a few minutes, and that fear quickly dissipated. And this morning, I had to read to her for another 1/2 hour.

Tonight’s reading posed a different problem for my big girl. She’s getting frustrated because she WANTS and NEEDS to know what happens to little Charles in the book. I’ve assured her that’s there’s a happy ending (I don’t want to ruin the ending for her, but I sure as hell don’t want her to freak out on me because the book is a bit beyond her years, and a little scary). But that’s not good enough. When I asked her if she was enjoying the book, she stubbornly said, “No!” So I asked her if she wanted to stop reading the book. “No!”

She sees that we’re getting to the end, but that we’re not quite there. And she’s getting impatient to find out what happens to Meg, Charles and Calvin. I am willing to bet that tomorrow morning she accosts me again – throwing the book in my face – demanding that I read some more. By week’s end, we’ll have finished the book. And she’ll be begging me for the next one in the series, A Wind in the Door.