One of the greatest gifts that my parents instilled in me at a very young age was a love for literature. They read to me constantly, my room was filled with books. I loved that books could transport me to anywhere I wanted to go-they gave me free reign to be whoever I wanted, wherever I wished. One moment I was foraging with the Boxcar Children, in the next cavorting with the Berenstain Bears. Books elicited emotions in me that nothing else could-I remember sobbing every time I read I’ll Always Love You and celebrating with Max as he danced in Where the Wild Things Are. One of the glorious parts of being a parent is that I now get to pass this gift on to Little C, and few things make my heart happier than watching her page through her books, soaking in the pictures, making up stories. Her imagination is so amazing-she will “read” a book, and then get up and spend the next thirty minutes playing out stories of her own. After paging through her book about the moon the other day, she proceeded to clamber around her room whispering about the moon, searching for it in the sky and then on the ceiling. To be two years old again-to have all of that infinite possibility at your fingertips. It’s so incredible. Thank goodness for books, they allow even us “old” people to escape the world and go wherever we choose.