For the past two years, Number One Daughter has grown used to seeing her books on the bottom of a particular shelf in our living room. Recently, the expanding collection of children's books got too large for that shelf - and being kid's books, they were all different shapes and sizes and would never stack or shelve neatly anyway. So, we moved them all to one of her toy storage shelves (located in our fireplace, no really) and moved the toys to her recently acquired toybox (thanks, grammy!).
Well, Ruthie has not caught on the the change in location. We've showed her several times where her books are stored now. But when she goes to select something she wants read to her she invariably goes to the old shelf, which now holds *our* books. Which is why I ended up reading 100 Hikes in the San Francisco Bay Area to her the other evening (well, only the first page or two), and why my sister-in-law was surprised to be requested to read Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass to her the other evening. Last night I had to tell her that Gabriel Garcia Marquez was a little old for her and perhaps Goodnight Moon would be a little more age appropriate. Maybe it isn't too early to start on the Khalil Gibran?
