Little Women

The memory of my mom reading to me is one of the clearest of my childhood. My sister and I squeezed together on a twin bed, trying not to wiggle too much for fear that mom might leave. Anything to stay up a little later. Though we went through countless books from Freckle Juice to Harriet the Spy, my memory of these read alouds begin and end with Jo, Beth, Amy, and Meg. What little tomboy doesn't want to be Jo March, constantly battling her good and bad habits, and stumbling through the conventions of society? Somehow her akwardness is more graceful than my own ever was. Because of Jo I wanted to conquer the world and become a writer. Neither has happened yet. Now I find myself being the mom and the reader and it's harder than it looks. But the virtue of the Marches and the lessons they learned are now being passed on to my own Little Women. If you've only seen the movie, pick up the book. And read it out loud.
Allison