One of my favorite things about being a mother is watching behavior and finding meaning in it. For example, my little baby boy is drawn to one of the bookshelves in the living room and loves to pull the books off. He then proceeds to eat the pages before mommy comes screaming, "No! Stop! Ack!" But I must say, his choice of material is fascinating.
For the longest time he went after Kathleen Norris' book, The Cloister Walk. Clearly, this boy is contemplative. He has also sampled What Paul Meant by Gary Wills, and, in my proudest moment, Perelandra, by the esteemed C.S. Lewis. Not the easiest C.S. Lewis to start with, but if he wants to dive right in, who am I to stop him? Oh, the literary journeys he and I will take in future years! The great discussions of spirituality! The ruminations of the state of the soul!
In a fit of folly, the boy did choose some Moliere yesterday. I'm glad to see that he has a sense of humor, this child, and can appreciate the occasionally caustic irony and even the knee-slapping comedy that Moliere offers. And, it was a collection in the original French, so I really have no choice but to endorse his selection.
Maybe I should go add some money to his therapy fund. I'm sure, with this mindset, the poor child is doomed to some sort of complex due to his mother's expectations.
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