A few years ago, as my son was an emerging reading and I was looking forward to those evenings when we would read to ourselves side-by-side each night, I read Alice Ouzma's book. I decided then that I would continue to read to him, perhaps not thousands of nights consecutively like her father did, nevertheless, I would continue reading aloud to him. I got up on my soapbox and gathered friends together to join us. That was two-and-one half years ago. Our group has solidified into 4 families, 5 children and just one boy, my son. I no longer attempt discuss the books analytically as we did that first summer, although they are far more capable of sustaining those conversations now than they were then. Our children watch the movie that tells the story of the book we have read. The moms indulge in conversation, wine and sisterhood. We are true to each other, encouraging, non-judging, and it has become a place of solace for me. I love that my son has these young ladies as friends. I pray that our group can continue for many more years.
This month, we read a classic, The Secret Garden.