The magic treehouse

There is a book series called The Magic Treehouse. It's been around for over ten years and the series is nearly forty books strong. When I was in Sacramento, Malachi, who had shared with me how much he loves the books, gave me his copy of book number one, to give to First and Kinder. He did this in the car, as he and Erika were driving me to the Amtrak station.

The kids were intrigued, but didn't bite right away. We went to Will's house for a visit a month later and during our stay, the kids saw that he had some of these books, too. Then, last week, I took Kinder to our neighborhood (independent) bookstore so that he could buy a birthday gift for his brother. He chose a boxed set of three or four Magic Treehouse books. He wasn't too bothered by the fact that the store didn't have book number two.

Once the dust settled on First's birthday, I discovered him lying on my bed, his nose in a book. Then it was lying on the livingroom couch. Then perched on the stairs going up from the bathroom to his room. He was hooked. Not since Uncle Scrooge and his capers has a series caught his attention like this.

Kinder loves the books, too, but it's a different experience for him. He can't yet read them to himself and he doesn't get some of what's going on (the books are considered second grade reading level).

The narcissist in me is pleased and feeling all is right in the world. Lying around with my nose stuck in a book and my imagination galloping around is how I spent much of my childhood.

The worrier in me is girding for the next storm of consumption. My kids are part of the "collect them all!" army of kids. I think part of it's genetic, Cap and I are both known for our completist tendencies. I also think part of it is learned. We have made choices along our parenting path that have led our boys to have the biggest collections of Thomas, Cars, Knex, and the latest craze, Ben 10, of anyone we know.

The thing is, although their interest may wane in their older toys and things, their true affection for them hasn't. Their consumption is not mindless or frenetic. Their exposure to tv commercials is limited to virtually none and because they do not attend school, they aren't as privvy to current fads and kid culture as some of their same age peers.

I'm wondering if we're on a precipice, and if I am catching a glimpse of hundreds of books to come. When I was growing up, my mom took us to the library regularly and I took out piles of books. After we moved during my third grade year, our walk to the library was easily a half mile. (I don't know how she did it, I am the oldest of three.)

During high school I started buying books. My dad would take us to the big Barnes and Noble in downtown Manhattan and let us buy a bag of books each once or twice a year. It was also during this time that I earned a regular wage baby-sitting and I would buy myself trade paperbacks at the bookstore on Austin Street. During college I bought a lot of books using my parents' credit card and I've never looked back.

My own consumption of books has slowed down drastically since having kids. I stil love to read, but rarely do. My preferred reading style is to read for hours on end, having personal reading marathons and finishing books in a day or two. Very old habits are hard to break.

So, now that Kinder and First have started hanging out with Jack and Annie in the magic treehouse, I wonder how the future will unfold as I smile and remember my reading past.