So when I was able to be with Momma during her last days, I didn't know what to do.

Seuss or Margaret Wise Brown or Ezra Jack Keats it was as if my mother gave birth to a fully formed reader, and that was just how she liked it. I have no memories of sitting in her lap listening to her read Dr. My momma was a busy lady, what with the garden, and the grass, and the laundry, and the pigs, and the horses, so her reading time was HER reading time. As a matter of fact, when writing her obituary, I made it a point to note that she always let me and my brother read books that were far too mature for our ages (anyone else have a fifth grade teacher who took away your copy of Judy Blume's Smart Women? I remember when my teacher asked me if my mother knew I was reading it, I answered, 'My momma gave it to me'). No, my mother expected me to read for myself, and she expected me to read a lot.

My mother expected me to read for myself, and she expected me to read a lot. (She made an exception on the rare occasions we went out to eat with family friends - I don't think we ever went out to eat by ourselves she never knew how long it would take for the food to come, and she also wanted me to be occupied so she could have an adult conversation). I don't remember her reading to me at all, but what I do remember is her telling me I was not allowed to read a book in my lap at suppertime. My mother was a voracious reader, but for herself, not for her children. Less loving, less stable, less full, less fun, just less. It has been almost two months since my mother died of COVID-19, and my world feels very much less. The last book I read to my mother was Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. The last book I read to my kids was The Bad Times of Irma Baumlein. The last book I read for myself was One Day: The Extraordinary Story of an Ordinary 24 Hours in America. Juanita Giles and her mother, Mary Morton Giles.

Very bad no good day book