Old Bookshops and Little Boys

I love musty old bookshops; they're restful and hushed, like libraries. I love the ratty book covers with strings pulling down the sides from use that creak a little when you open them. I love the yellowed pages, so brittle that they crumble as you turn them. I could spend hours poring over the various tommes, completely perplexed as to how I could possibly choose only one or two from the hordes that are calling my name. I could, quite happily, immerse myself in the words of obscure authors for days on end. if only the store would stay open long enough to let me.

Sam and Ben do not love musty old bookshops. They are, in fact, quite annoyed by the constant admonitions to not touch, not to pull covers off the books, not to empty the shelves with a sweep of the arm, not to run behind the counter to press the cash register buttons, not to toss fragile antique books to the floor in a fit, not to run away from me in a stream of giggles and squeals like we're playing a game of tag, not to hide under the bargain table when I finally get within reaching distance . . . not to, not to, not to. . .

I don't know what I was thinking. Is it a surprise to me that these two particular toddlers would not be interested in sitting cross-legged in the children's section, quietly perusing picture books while I looked at my own options nearby? Oh wait - maybe if I just strapped them in the stroller with a couple of books to look at for a few minutes while I finished up making my purchases. Mistake #1: trying to harnass them after they've had even a small taste of freedom - never a plausible idea. Mistake #2: Keeping the stroller within arms reach of shelves on either side - a difficult feat to overcome with a side-by-side stroller as wide as the store aisles.

I don't know who breathed a greater sigh of relief when I finally managed to wrestle the stroller out the almost too narrow doorway - me or the store owner. To his credit, he did only grimace once or twice and, I think in sheer joy that we were finally leaving, did cover both boys' hands in a plethora of puppy dog stickers. And I did find an old Kitchen Garden book from the 1960's, so it wasn't a total wash.

Note to self: quiet, restful excursions to locations with pricey or priceless merchandise is best handled alone. There are a lot of activities that I can do with these guys that involve running, climbing, playing and squealing; an old bookshop is simply not one of them.