First, let me say, that no child of mine suffers from lack of appropriate reading material. Charlie, however, claims there is absolutely nothing of interest to him in our current library. Even when he’s been invited into Max’s room for a personal tour of the vast selection of titles that reside on his older brother’s black bookshelves — crammed as they are, every which way, beside the many knickknacks, academic awards and sports trophies — Charlie holds fast that he just can’t find a thing to read.

He refuses to read the Harry Potter series, which crushes me because I LOVED those books. (“I saw all the movies. I don’t need to read the books.” he says.) He devoured (in three hours) the last “Big Nate” book I bought him. Lately, we’ve borrowed many a graphic novel/comic book volume from the Saratoga Library just up the street from our house. (And to all the teachers who have ever told me that comic books don’t count as “official” reading material for the weekly at-home reading book log, I say “Bullocks!” Just last week, Charlie and I discussed the meaning of “irony” and “sanctimonious,” both words he’d picked up from his comic book reads.) Charlie has re-read (many times over) each and every Calvin and Hobbes book he owns and he admitted to me that he’s actually grown tired of the rascally boy and the tart tiger sidekick.

Last night, Charlie was so desperate for reading material, I found him buried beneath his red comforter (which we call a “puff”) with a stack of cookbooks. As I snuggled him into sleep with back scratches and neck rubs, we brought the evening to a close with a lengthy chat about recipes.