The other day I needed to reduce the clutter in my daughter's bedroom. Her bookshelves had become overfilled and I wanted to pack up the books from her childhood that she had long since outgrown. A job that should have taken 30 minutes ended up taking a full evening as each book that I picked up overwhelmed me with memories:
- Stories I remember reading to her when she was sick and she wanted to be nowhere else than snuggled against my shoulder.
- Pages we strolled through over and over again because she loved the pictures.
- Tales that I used to read to her that she ultimately read to me after a time.
- Stories we read together when my life had broken apart that brought us a measure of comfort.
- Series that we followed eagerly with each and every volume released.
- Childhood adventures that pulled us into discussions of future dreams and possibilities.