Living Vicariously at the Library

Today was library day.  The boys get so excited that their little bodies can hardly handle the enthusiasm.  Once we are out of the car and making our way toward the entrance, they are running and twirling, half-skipping -- anything but walking along beside me.  As we enter, I shush and corral them, telling them that in libraries people are qui...oh heck, why do I bother?  We turn the corner into the children's section and the madhouse would rival any six-year old's birthday party.  Kids are jumping, playing with blocks, hollering, gaming on the computers -- hardly a one is reading a book.The adults are settled into too-small chairs and lost in their own conversations as their little ones treat the library like a playground. 

I know, I know.  I am supposed to be happy because there are so many children enjoying the library, but I always hope I can give my sons a little bit of my own library experience.  I loved everything about the library when I was young.  Books from floor to ceiling, alphabetized and catalogued. Roomy chairs and a quiet that allowed me to leave my body and get lost in my own head.  For me, the library was both grown-up and magical and I loved the paradox. 

That's not quite the experience my boys are having, but they enjoy the library in their own way.  They dive into the stacks, seeking the one Junie B Jones that we  haven't read yet or Book 13 of a beloved series.  They talk in their normal voices and have no trouble navigating the mini-carnival around them.

As with most attempts in parenting of reliving your own childhood through your kids, it doesn't look like this one is going to work.   I won't be able to give my boys the same library experience I had.  But, I can be a part of the library experience they are having.  Noisy mayhem or not,  I still love to take them. And I am pretty certain they love to go.