When my parents are in town, the kids get all kinds of goodies. The overwhelming majority fall into the book/art/educational toy category, which is great.
The best swag from their current visit, however, we picked up on Sunday at my aunt's house. A box of books that has been passed from my cousins to me to my brother to my aunt's grandchildren. And now they've come home to roost.
There are copies of some classics, like Make Way for Ducklings and A Letter to Amy, that we already own. Some that we don't. No Fighting, No Biting. Petunia. The Little Engine That Could.
And then there are my classics. Books that I remember loving as a kid, even if I don't remember their plots. It made me so happy to see them again, like greeting old friends you didn't realize you had missed.
Miss M is too young for some, but we will somehow find room for Mr. Tamarind's Trees, Old MacDonald Had an Apartment House, Little Bear, Willie's Garden, and It's So Nice to Have a Wolf Around the House.
Welcome, old friends.
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