September 24

For better or worse, I can see bits and pieces of myself (and past versions of myself) in my kids. (Which isn't terribly surprising since I birthed them and all, but I digress.) So when I turned around to look at Brady in the back seat of my car this afternoon between pick-ups, I smiled to myself when I saw this:

For one, he --like me-- apparently suffers from resting b!tch face. But more importantly, he really enjoys books. I loved reading when I was a kid. I holed up in my bedroom and went through books at warp speed; I remember borrowing an entire series --one book at a time-- from a girl in my dance class. I'd see her every Saturday, and without fail, I'd hand her the previous week's offering and she'd hand me the next one in line.

Given that not all of my memories are particularly positive, I'm thankful that Brady (and Abby and Isaac) likes to read, and that seeing him so engrossed in his new story triggered a happy wave of nostalgia for me.