Monsters Under my Bookshelf

Contrary to Darwin's theories, mutations are never beneficial. This case is no different. Our sweet, darling, little bookworms have mutated into something terrifying. Aunt Kelsey can attest to the degree of fear these two book-mutants can instill in the heart of anyone kind enough - or foolish enough - to enter into our home.



All you have to do is come in and sit down. They smell your fresh blood. And they stalk you, circling closer and closer with books in their outstretched little paws.

"Boooooo...k"

"Boooooooooooooo...k"

"Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...k"



And then they have you. They lure you in with their cute big eyes and sweet little voices. But then, when they get you on the hook, when you crack the first pages of the first book, you are theirs forever. You will never escape.

You will be reading Dr. Seuss for the rest of your life. If you're lucky. If not, it'll be endless renditions of "You're My Little Love Bug."

I cannot sit during the day. As soon as I do, they attack. They sense a weakness, a momentary shift in my ability to withstand their charms, and they descend upon me, books in hands.



We worked so hard to get these little guys to fall in love with books, as their parents have. One of my baby showers, when I was pregnant with Iain, was a book shower. We read to both of them long before they could understand the words we spoke. We delighted in the times they asked to read. We especially loved seeing them sitting quietly, both lost in the worlds of their imaginations, the only sounds the gentle hush of the turning pages.

But we never anticipated that we'd be creating these monsters. Book-monsters, that is. We are imprisoned by their demands.



Today, I took the boys to Bed Bath and Beyond to look for a lamp. Iain saw one he liked and said, "Mama, that one looks like a Hut-Zut!" And if you can correctly identify the book that he was referencing, you will know that you too have been caught.