You Can't Go Back
I enjoy taking the kids to library story time. I view it as an important developmental activity. They learn about the joy of books, the value of interacting with other children, and the importance of sitting still until daddy says it’s time to leave. Sometimes I have to rush the kids out of the house in the morning to arrive before the doors close, but I’m always glad we went.
We missed the last few story times, though. In fact, we haven’t attended since moving a month ago. I have my excuses. At the top of my list is we no longer live near my old library. Our commute time has tripled from five minutes to 15 minutes. While ten minutes, or just under half an episode of Dora, may not seem like a lot of time, when trying to rush the kids out the door in the morning, that can be the difference between arriving fresh and smiling, and arriving barefoot and cranky, and possibly poopy.
Next on my list is the fact that we now live in the suburbs, not the city of Des Moines proper where my old library resides. I can still visit Des Moines’s libraries and suckle on their amenities without problem, but I feel I should patronize my suburb’s library. It also helps that my suburban library is a mile from my suburban home.
I like the people at my old library. The story time leader is a wonderful woman who reads stories with enthusiasm and views rambunctiousness with a blind eye. I had just enrolled the kids in their summer reading program, and had earned free t-shirts for all of them. It was time to make the change to my new library, though. A few days ago, I called them to register for their story time.
Registering for story time is a formality. You call, tell them you’re coming, and someone at the library may or may not write down anything while sending you wishes to see you soon. I’ve registered for a few story times, and I always hear the same thing from the other end. Sometimes they even sound confused that someone bothered to register. I assume most people just show up for story time, enjoy the merriment, and leave as anonymously as they arrived.
My suburban library does things differently. When I called to register, they told me this session was full, and I should call back to register for the next session in a few weeks.
Full? They refuse to share the joy of books with my children? How can they be full? Just find a bigger room.
Indignant at the pretentiousness of my new hometown, I made plans to return to my old library. It would be fun to read with their story time leader again, to see the anonymous faces of the other patrons I barely recognize from week-to-week, and to collect our free t-shirts.
When we arrived yesterday morning, the first thing I saw was the substitute story time leader. The regular leader was on vacation, replaced by the woman who reads without enthusiasm or vocal volume. The kids responded to the lack of excitement by creating their own. Abbie ran around the room, showing a newfound eagerness to open the doors and exit the room. Tory streaked for the room’s storage closet, the one filled with tables, chairs, and other heavy object for him to knock on top of himself. I did my best to round them up and hold them close, but Ian responded to the rescinding of freedom by devolving into a newborn, complete with full meltdown and floppiness. With both hands focused on keeping Ian from collapsing into a pretzel, the other two children were free to scramble to opposite ends of the room, or in Abbie’s case, opposite end of the library.
I gave up on story time halfway through. I never give up on story time, but this was unbearable, and unfair to the other attendees. It takes talent for misbehavior to stand out in a room full of toddlers, but my children were up to the task. On our way out the door, I stopped at the summer reading desk to pick up our free t-shirts, just so the visit wasn’t a total waste of time. They had one size: Youth medium. They’ll grow into them in a few years as long as no one questions why their new shirt brags about their accomplishments in the summer of 2007.
Maybe the kids will like their new library better. We only have to wait a few more weeks to find out.
We missed the last few story times, though. In fact, we haven’t attended since moving a month ago. I have my excuses. At the top of my list is we no longer live near my old library. Our commute time has tripled from five minutes to 15 minutes. While ten minutes, or just under half an episode of Dora, may not seem like a lot of time, when trying to rush the kids out the door in the morning, that can be the difference between arriving fresh and smiling, and arriving barefoot and cranky, and possibly poopy.
Next on my list is the fact that we now live in the suburbs, not the city of Des Moines proper where my old library resides. I can still visit Des Moines’s libraries and suckle on their amenities without problem, but I feel I should patronize my suburb’s library. It also helps that my suburban library is a mile from my suburban home.
I like the people at my old library. The story time leader is a wonderful woman who reads stories with enthusiasm and views rambunctiousness with a blind eye. I had just enrolled the kids in their summer reading program, and had earned free t-shirts for all of them. It was time to make the change to my new library, though. A few days ago, I called them to register for their story time.
Registering for story time is a formality. You call, tell them you’re coming, and someone at the library may or may not write down anything while sending you wishes to see you soon. I’ve registered for a few story times, and I always hear the same thing from the other end. Sometimes they even sound confused that someone bothered to register. I assume most people just show up for story time, enjoy the merriment, and leave as anonymously as they arrived.
My suburban library does things differently. When I called to register, they told me this session was full, and I should call back to register for the next session in a few weeks.
Full? They refuse to share the joy of books with my children? How can they be full? Just find a bigger room.
Indignant at the pretentiousness of my new hometown, I made plans to return to my old library. It would be fun to read with their story time leader again, to see the anonymous faces of the other patrons I barely recognize from week-to-week, and to collect our free t-shirts.
When we arrived yesterday morning, the first thing I saw was the substitute story time leader. The regular leader was on vacation, replaced by the woman who reads without enthusiasm or vocal volume. The kids responded to the lack of excitement by creating their own. Abbie ran around the room, showing a newfound eagerness to open the doors and exit the room. Tory streaked for the room’s storage closet, the one filled with tables, chairs, and other heavy object for him to knock on top of himself. I did my best to round them up and hold them close, but Ian responded to the rescinding of freedom by devolving into a newborn, complete with full meltdown and floppiness. With both hands focused on keeping Ian from collapsing into a pretzel, the other two children were free to scramble to opposite ends of the room, or in Abbie’s case, opposite end of the library.
I gave up on story time halfway through. I never give up on story time, but this was unbearable, and unfair to the other attendees. It takes talent for misbehavior to stand out in a room full of toddlers, but my children were up to the task. On our way out the door, I stopped at the summer reading desk to pick up our free t-shirts, just so the visit wasn’t a total waste of time. They had one size: Youth medium. They’ll grow into them in a few years as long as no one questions why their new shirt brags about their accomplishments in the summer of 2007.
Maybe the kids will like their new library better. We only have to wait a few more weeks to find out.
posted by Matt at
11:27 PM
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