Listening

I've just been listening to G reading bedtime stories to Leo. We're trying to introduce a new book to Leo's repertoire, which is always a slow process, as, with literature at least, he is very much a creature of habit. Cue much laughter from G who hid Leo's favourite book under the chair in an attempt to get him to listen to the new story (Honk by Mick Inkpen, if you were wondering), only to have his normally still, attentive, thumb-sucking reader turn into a wriggling, squirming, multi-limbed monkey as he brushed aside Honk and tried to reach Peepo Baby (by Georgie Birkett, a favourite now and the first book he ever really engaged with.)

As well as it making me smile inside and out to hear the two people I love most having such a good time together, I learn a lot from listening to G (and others) read with Leo. The pacing is often very different to mine and their intonation and emphasis varies radically which can really change the focus of story and give me ideas for next time I read the same book with Leo. My favourite bit about listening surreptitiously at the door though is the little asides: where's the cat?; can you point to the apple?; I've already read that three times!; quack quack; I really think it's time for bed now; oh okay then just once more...