We never had a lot of luck at the library when the boys were younger. On more than one occasion, more than one of us left the library in tears. That was back in the days when I tried to force storytime upon my children. I quickly learned that my active boys were just not storytime "material". They did not view the wonderful shelves of books as a gateway to new adventures through the joy of reading. They saw them more as mountains to be climbed...literally.
It wasn't that my boys didn't enjoy being read to, couldn't sit still for a story, or didn't know how to behave in public (well, most days), but for some reason the library seemed to overstimulate them to the point of losing any semblence of control over themselves. I truly did not expect perfection from my active boys, but behaviors seemed to come out of them at the library that did not surface elsewhere. It was like they were subconsciously rebeling against the silence. It went against their very nature, and they were having none of it.
It was never an enjoyable trip for us. Believe me, I tried. The library was actually on my list of most stressful places to take my children. This was so hard for me, because I have always LOVED the library. I have so many fond memories of going to the public library as a kid or spending time in the school library. And as an adult, I still love it. There is just something great about being surrounded by a bunch of books. I always wanted to share that same experience with my children. However, it just seemed like every time we entered that library, some incident would occur.
Some unfortunate incident.
When Seth was barely three, I mustered up the courage to take the boys back to the library. It had been a while since our last unsuccessful trip. Maturity was on our side. Caleb was five and a half, with a couple of years of preschool under his belt, and finally had the capacity to sit still for a few minutes at a time without trying to climb the walls. Seth was also in good form that day, so we set out for a fun visit to the library. All signs pointed to a positive experience and the turning over of a new leaf for the Workman family and the public library.
Approximately two minutes into our visit, I dreaded ever leaving my house. As soon as we walked into the children's section, the boys got a few steps ahead of me. Just a few. I am talking, out of my eye sight for .2 seconds. What could happen in .2 seconds?
"Seth hit a baby! Seth hit a baby!"
That's what!
Not my Seth. My little laid back, gentle (ish) second born.
Surely, no.
No!
As I rounded the corner, there were my boys. Caleb actually had a look of shock on his face as Seth stood over a baby carrier belonging to a not-so-happy momma. The writing was on the wall. Seth had guilt all over his face (it was actually in the form of a cheshire cat grin). We were hethens. Innocent baby attackers. And of all places...the public library. Is no place sacred?
Hitting is an absolute "No Sir" in our home. And hitting a baby that we didn't even know for no apparent reason is something I never dreamed Sethie would do! NEEEEVER! How did things go so horribly wrong?
I had no idea what to say. I was beyond mortified. My eyes met the other mothers and at that moment, I don't know if I was more relieved or more appalled because I actually KNEW her. She was a friend of a close friend who I had met at a few birthday parties. I couldn't believe it. I think she was kind of feeling that same relief vs. appalled feeling, too. Surely our previous interactions assured her that we weren't a bunch of wild banshees. Hopefully.
I don't think either one of really knew what to say. She did show me grace, as I apologized profusely. I quickly gathered my children and left in record time, with my head held low, looking for a hole to crawl into. The white flag I waved. Visions of afternoon library trips faded, as I conceded to the fact that little Workmans and libraries just did not mix.
Fast forward another year or so. Really. It was over a year before I gave the library a try with my boys in tow. What a difference that year made!
At the first of the school year, Caleb's teacher asked me what was my goal for him this year.
It was simple. I wanted my first grader to develop a love for reading. I wanted him to see it as both an adventure and a way to relax. I wanted him to have a thirst for books and knowledge and absolutely LOVE the library.
And for noone to leave in tears. (Well, I didn't tell his teacher this part.)
That isn't too high of an expectation for a first grader, right?
Well, the expectation has far been exceeded! Last school year, Caleb would get really excited about visiting his school library and checking out books. Then during the summer, I signed the boys up for the summer reading program, and we began taking trips to the library often. Successful trips. The boys began to enjoy picking out their own books and using their very own library card. (Yeah, I think that cool library card may have done the trick.) Plus, Caleb's teacher is absolutely WONDERFUL! She has really helped spark his interest in reading. They do so much of it in class, and she makes it a lot of fun for them.
Now we venture to the library every couple of weeks and leave with our arms filled. All of our arms. On our last trip, we left with thirty books! We enjoy walking the aisles finding books and stopping ever so often to read a few together. Caleb is always ready and willing to do his reading homework. But what is even better now is that he can be found often with a book in hand reading for fun! He reads to Seth. He reads in the car. He reads in the bathroom. We catch him reading in his bed when he is suppose to be going to sleep. He has become an avid reader. Goal met! This has been a huge influence for Seth, as well, who is starting to read more and more. He can often be found perusing a book of his own. The past week, he has started asking if he can read to us.
Hop on Pop is usually his book of choice to showcase his new reading skills. Thank you, Dr. Seuss!
So, now I get to share my love for the library with my boys. Yay!
I just had to wait until they were ready.
Eric chose not to strap on the skates, since he met up with us after work and wasn't wearing appropriate "skating attire". But he watched us trek around the rink, cheered us on, and gave the boys some "good skating form" pointers. Yeah, Eric was a skater in his youth, too. No wonder we hit it off so well. 
