Hello Strange and Meaningful Random Event, It's Nice To See You Again

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Here's a tip.  Don't buy any books for your kids. Save your money and put it toward iTunes or something useful with longevity for God's sake.  Kids, man . . . they'll only need to be as literate as their next txt msg. Set them onto the right path of the modern religion of consumerism and there's just no sense in teaching something that they "won't ever use." Books are so hard to read with those full size words and all. And everything worth reading is all on the internet anyway.

But if you totally disregard my advice, please, still don't buy them any books.  Or too many.  Here's a secret: libraries still exist.  Remember those? There's one in your town somewhere - possibly more.  The one in Chandler is right around the corner from the lingerie store, so it's easy to find and they know me by name over there.

Here's the deal.  We own a healthy collection of books that I used to be really fond of.  An assortment of "Spot" books, Sheep in a Jeep, a couple of well-meaning (yet easy to avoid) sweet Jesus things. I'm well versed in the works of Beth Shoshan.  Go ahead and try me, I can quote them all and I'm pretty confident I can identify something by her by just hearing a sentence.

And just when I was going to go nuts if I had to flip open the piano flap in "Where's Spot?" and laugh at that silly hippo hiding in there one more time, Brooke came home with a pile of books.

"Aw, geesh . . ." I groaned.

"Relax. I went to the library. I didn't buy them all." She said.

Two weeks passed, Chloe and I read all these new books through several times; and then they were gone.  We had to return them.  That's how libraries work, you know. But we all went back to the library together one fine Tuesday night - and I flipped out right there in the kids section on the second floor.

"Chloe! Let's read this one!" "And this one!" "Holy crap kid, here's one with a puppy driving a race car! We need this one."

So she humored me even though she's only two, sat on my lap right there on the floor in the library, and let me read her a few books.  Brooke picked out a few, along with a hideous Barney CD (I pick my battles in this department), and off we went with a whole new selection of stories.

So here's another thing. The next night at bedtime, I picked through the new pile of books and found Gotta Go! Gotta Go! which didn't stick out to me all that much at first.  A story about a bug.

Chloe sat with me on the floor in her room that night, she was breathing softly and slowly getting mellow.  She likes to rub the corner of her purple blanket on her bare toes as I read to her.  So that's what she did when I flipped open Gotta Go! Gotta Go! and began to read.

This book, I believe, has been wandering the Earth in search of me since it was printed. Or maybe in seach or me and Chloe together.  It found us, and pulled us in with these words of adventurous call: "I don't know much, but I know what I know. I gotta go! I gotta go! I gotta go to Mexico!"

No kidding.  I gotta go to Mexico.

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