Okay, so we’re on vacation. That’s usually a time when you can indulge a little and crack open a book or two. Or, well… in my case, three of four. I just can’t get enough of books. Reading helps me relax, it stimulates my imagination and I find it utterly engrossing. Eventually Kevin gets sick of seeing my nose buried in the pages and starts making comments like “Get a life,” and “Hey, remember me?” but I do a pretty good job of ignoring him.

So yesterday I rushed to get back to my book (the new Jeffrey Archer bestseller) and yelled to the kids over my shoulder as I scampered off to my room, “And, kids!  It’s time for you guys to read too!”

Half an hour later I started feeling guilty. Bet they’re on the computer, I thought. Better check on them. Not fair to ignore them totally now, is it? So I head into the hallway. All is deathly quiet. I peak into their rooms. All three of them are lying on their beds. Each one has a book propped open. EACH CHILD IS QUIETLY READING. Yes, reading. Quietly! So I go right back to my novel, guilt gone, feeling pretty darn happy.