This week’s Wonderful Ordinary is not Wonderful. In fact, it’s mildly devastating. Perhaps that’s a bit strong… Rather upsetting might be more fitting. But The Wonderful Ordinary is where I document our day-to-day we may forget otherwise… So The Wonderful Ordinary it is.
The other week I smugly posted about how Little Miss has started amusing herself in the morning by pulling books off her bookshelf and reading for thirty minutes or so before calling for us. It’s been heavenly.
Well, I spoke to soon. The book-moon is over.
On Sunday, we put Little Miss in the cot for a nap just as we’ve always done. She’s becoming increasingly resistant to naps, but still needs one to see her through the last few hours of the day, even if she only manages an hour. So we persist.
We could hear her chattering away to Lambie for a good 40 minutes before it finally went quiet. We were building yet more IKEA flat pack furniture (kill me – I think this might finally be the last of it after moving in January!). In truth, it was easier to carry on and get the job done with Little Miss out of the way, so while she seemed content with Lambie’s company in the cot, we left her to it, asleep or not.
Once it eventually went quiet, I popped my head in (because who doesn’t like the sight of an adorable sleeping babe?) and found this:
But look closer. There’s a casualty in that there anarchy.
A book that was my mum’s, and then mine, and now Little Miss’ had been torn apart page by page. This book, despite it’s weird 1960s Russian Fairytale plot about a bread roll (?!) has huge sentimental value for me.
It looked almost methodical. Each page torn from the other, some even torn in half. I was shocked and really upset that one of my favourite childhood books had met such a sorry end. And not only that, but that Little Miss had shown such disregard for books.
It struck me as a protest against nap time. Little Miss knows to treat books nicely. She’s usually so measured, so careful; on the odd occasion she’s ripped a page it’s by accident and she gasps, trying to stick it back together. So this open act of defiance and disregard for the book really took me by surprise.
When she woke up, I tried to talk to her about what she’s done but she was groggy and not hugely responsive. I’m not 100% sure what I was saying sunk in, even when I showed her me sticking it back together.
I have managed to piece The Little Round Bun back together and he’s smiling once again. But alas, The Little Round Bun, along with a few other hand-me-down books from my mum and my’s childhoods have been quietly relocated to the study bookshelf until a later (safer) date when Little Miss is old enough to 100% understand that we treat books with care and above all else that the The Little Round Bun is special (even if really odd).
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