I hid my toddler’s favorite book today. Ok not just one… the entire series. It was an act of self-preservation, I swear. It was me or the damn Pigeon. Don’t get me wrong those Pigeon books are great and funny…. the first 100 times. After that it wears on your soul, pecking away slowly like a real Pigeon would probably do to you. Can you tell its been a rough week? And its only Tuesday.
This wasn’t a case of the same bedtime story every night for a month type of repetition. For two solid weeks we had three books on a near constant loop. Like something they would do to torture prisoners. I just couldn’t take it anymore. You know. You all know how that goes. You know that books are so good for your kids and as soon as you hit some of those funnier pages your kids eyes light up with joy.
But you know what- I don’t feel guilty about hiding the books- not one bit, because yes my child’s eyes light up with joy at that persistent but really shortsighted pigeon, but my soul dies a little each time I had to excitedly and emphatically yell “no pigeon!”
I mean I feel a little guilty. She’s two and has no idea that reading the same book over and over is super annoying. She does really like the books and this probably means she will grow up to be an ornithologist or something. FINE, I’ll unhide the books. You win this round, Pigeon.
Yup, that really is all I wrote about this. You were expecting something profound? That would require way more brain cells than I have right now. Maybe next time.
Playdates and Protests: 