Reading to my children has quickly become the highlight of my day

Ahead of World Book Day next week, I’ve been reflecting on my love affair with the written word.

It began at a car boot sale when I was around six, and I spotted a hard-backed version of The Naughtiest Girl In The School by Enid Blyton. 

After my parents gave me the required 10 pence – voila, it was mine.

I devoured – it’s the only word for it – that book over the next couple of nights, amazed at the depiction of a boarding school life that was so different to mine, set decades before I was even born. 

I’d read other books beforehand – I remembered making my mam recite Burglar Bill and The Worst Witch over and over until her voice was sore – but this is still my first clear memory of picking a book and becoming lost in another world.   

It’s a joy I’ve treasured, and one I’ve been so excited to pass on to my own children. 

I was an addict; I couldn’t get enough. My dad would take me and my sister to the library every Saturday morning without fail and I’d spend hours browsing the shelves. It was my own personal treasure trove, where I agonised over which six books to pick each week.

Whenever I went on holiday abroad, pre-Kindle of course, my parents would rage when they opened my suitcase and saw the stash of books I’d snuck in after they thought I was finished packing.  

Choosing what to study at university was a no-brainer and during my English Literature degree, I discovered the joys of Gothic literature, the Brontes and Shakespeare.

The only thing I would change about my husband Tom is that he read more – not for me, but for him. I genuinely feel he is missing out.

So during both of my pregnancies, as well as chatting to my bumps on the way to the train station, or my walk to the office, I’d often read my unborn babies books aloud in bed at the end of my day. 

Sometimes it would be whatever novel I was reading but on other occasions, I’d choose a children’s book, especially for them.  

‘Start them early,’ I joked to Tom.

I carried on seamlessly when they were born. I’d read to them on and off during the day, but I’d always take two or three stories to bed when I was putting them down for the night. It was a routine I started when they were just months old and one that we follow, without fail, now.

The benefits are, as studies show, truly endless. Enhanced language skills; improved imagination and creativity; increased concentration and discipline; preparation for academic success.

Children’s publisher Egmont UK put it simply when, after commissioning research into school story times, they stated, ‘children who read for pleasure simply do better in life. They have a better sense of well-being. They reach greater levels of attainment, in all subjects. By feeding knowledge, imagination and by engaging empathy, reading feeds children’s growing humanity.’ 

But that wasn’t really why I was doing it. Instead, I loved snuggling up to Theo and Immy when they were sleepy, spending those last few minutes of their day with them, doing something we all enjoyed.

Now that they are old enough, the four of us pile into Theo’s bed after they’ve had a bath and we’ll always do at least one story together before Immy goes into her own bedroom. 

Usually, they can persuade us to do a couple more too.

I just love it. I love reading them new stories, or old favourites. The four of us were hysterical when a friend of Theo’s bought him Don’t Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus for his birthday – four months on, it still never fails to make us laugh, as we take turns to ‘be’ the pigeon.

Another one we pick out regularly is ‘I’m Sticking With You’ – again, it holds sentimental value as a present, and has such a sweet message.

I love watching Theo and Immy’s eyes as they take a glimpse into whole other worlds and experiences, as they fall in love with characters and are introduced to concepts that they may not have come across yet.

It’s a time where we all relax together and usually after busy days at nursery, school and work, we have some quality time as a family. To cuddle and laugh and just… be.

It has also become a time when the children tell us about their days and, as Theo has started school, he has used this time to open up about worries he’s had. 

When we’re all together on the bed, it’s our safe space, where the children know they have our undivided attention, where Tom won’t be running off to start dinner or I won’t need to vacuum or put away the laundry.

I have no idea how long our children will allow us to share these moments together or, indeed, if their love of books and reading will last. 

But that just makes these times more special now. And I’ll cherish them for as long as I can.