peanut butter...

I have many books that have been recovered from my very own child hood. These were saved by my mother, after having been shared with a set of cousins and my younger half-sister. I now have these wonderful relics of my youth to share with my son. One of my favorites from the bunch is called A House is A House For Me. It tells of all the great things that can be houses or live in a house. My son and I have pored over this book many, many, many times. So much so that at this point I could recite the entire book to anyone who asked without a second thought. Last night he picked this book for bedtime reading – but he wanted to read it to me, which is a special little treat I get every now and then. Some words come out as they were intended by the author and others sound as if they are in some very complex foreign language I have never been formally introduced to.
After he “read” the book to me he wanted to go through and find out what all the pictures were of. The book has wonderful watercolor images and is jut plain pretty and fun to look at. We came upon some butterflies which he immediately decided were bugs. I chose to gently correct him and let him know that these were actually butterflies. There were about 5 on the two corresponding pages. He repeated the word and seemed comfortable accepting it and we temporarily moved on to name other objects on other pages. Eventually we arrived on the same page with the colorful pretties. He looked at me and said:


Momma, I remember! Pretty peanut butterflies!


I love him like no other.