It was well-past time for her to wake from her nap, so I turned the baby monitor from "voice-activated" to "on." I listened to the static sound of the fan in her room and tried to discern whether or not there were noises of a toddler accompanying it.
Ever so faintly, I heard it. The soft ripping sound of velcro. I knew it was my sign that she was, indeed, awake.
As quietly as I could, I opened her door, which gets stuck halfway. I gave it a final nudge with my knee and crept into her room. She was sitting upright in her crib, back toward me. In her lap was one of the box set of books she insisted on napping with that afternoon.
"Would you like to get up and have a snack?"
"No, Mama. I'm reading."
After taming some of the fly-aways in her hair, I moved to the nursing chair. I sat and watched her stare at one page in her book for a few deliberate minutes. She is obsessed with one of her favorite character's Dads and will look at his rendering for minutes on end. When it became evident that she wasn't in a hurry to get up, I went into my room and grabbed my own book.
So there we were. Each of us enjoying the early evening hours with books in our laps.