I've been exploring childhood memories in my journal working through this book. And these words pretty much sum up my life:
And while my mother had many issues, and my childhood was loud and chaotic, she did instill in me a love of books... One of my earliest memories is being lifted into the mobile library van to choose my books for the coming week :) I have no memories of her actually reading to me, or even sitting close as in the picture above. I suspect my Dad read to me until I could read for myself. I was always being sent to my room, supposedly as a punishment, but it was bliss - as I could enter a place of quiet, and read...
Sharing with Becca here.
PS Yesterday I shared some childhood toys :)