Just to make a change from alternating chapters of fan fic, this week I stumbled across this via twitter, one Mum’s struggle to get her kids to read Blyton books. Thought it was quite funny, and got me wondering if my future children would be Blyton fans or not, I know a couple of mums personally who have struggled – mostly because their children stop every two lines to ask what strange words mean. Anyway, here’s the post for you, so enjoy!
If you wanted to find me as a child, all you had to do was look in the nearest corner and I’d be more than likely sat in it with my nose buried in a book.
I had loads of favourites, from Enid to Blyton, to Roald Dahl, to Judy Blume.
Which is why, when on having kids of my own, I suddenly had an excuse to re-buy all my favourites from my childhood. Not for me, you understand.
For the KIDS.
The Tiger Who Came to Tea, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar were added to the already bulging bookcase, among others.
It’s easy to introduce the classics when the children are small, and to incorporate them into the bedtime routine so that they become firm favourites of theirs as well.
What about when they become older though, and decide to choose their own books? It’s not so easy then.
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