When I’m not reading to myself, I love reading to my children. But one thing that really irks me is the way every so-called childcare guru seems to insist on a nightly bath-book-bed routine.
Don’t get me wrong; I love bedtime stories. The three year-old, the baby and I all pile into bed and curl up with a selection of books. It’s all very Little House on the Prairie (when it’s not more House of Horrors). I just don’t like being told to read stories as a perfunctory activity, like brushing teeth.
The problem is, these experts have no interest in reading as its own reward (and if you’ve ploughed your way through The Baby Whisperer, you’ll know what I mean, ducky). To them books are a means to an end, as sleep-inducing as a bottle of Cow and Gate Good Night milk. Publishers are no better: the number of books for babies and young children ending ‘and they all went to sleep’ is practically criminal.
Surely we should be raising our children to see that books can be exciting, silly, sad and fun; they can even be naughty and dangerous. They are also the most portable of play things. Read on the bus, at the park, read in the bath. Books are not just for bed.
A favourite in our house, from a young age, was Pants by Nick Sharratt – a glorious underwear parade to appeal to a toddler’s sense of silliness. From now on, I’m on the look-out for books that affirm life, not that send my kids to sleep. If you have any suggestions, why not add them here?
Laura
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