To keep my kids reading over the summer (the two oldest ones love it and would read anyway, but Beth [we're just going to go with the little women names here], while being a good reader, would rather do other things), I instituted a reading club. We have a meeting every Friday at lunch time, where I buy them a fast-food meal (we're doing READING here, NOT concerning ourselves with trans fats) and we sit and discuss the books they've read over the last week. Sometimes, I'll talk about the book I'm reading (in an age appropriate manner) so they feel that I'm into it as well. They can read any kind of books they want, but Jo has to read two chapter books and Beth has to read one chapter book each week to participate in the fast-food portion of the meeting. They keep track of what they read in a reading journal that I put together for them that just has them record the title, author, illustrator (if applicable), main character(s) and what they liked about the book. Wow, to read that you'd think I'm one of THOSE moms who has all her shit together. I am SO NOT.
At today's meeting, after Jo told us about the three Magic Treehouse books she had read and Beth told us about the Junie B. Jones book she quickly read this morning so she wouldn't miss the lunch, I told them about the book I am reading, Invisible Prey by John Sandford. Leaving out the old ladies being bludgeoned to death, I said that the book was about some criminals who were stealing art and the police trying to find them.
Beth said, "Well, if that story was true, I would sure hope they never found the [Picklebottom] house, because I make art ALL THE TIME."