No accounting for taste...

Here's one thing that hits you hard as a parent: Your kids are not like you.

Of course, you knew that going in. But you knew it in a vague, theoretical way. When you actually bump up against it, it still surprises you. At least, it always does me.

For example, my kids love books that I hate. And no matter how often it happens, it still surprises me. "The Color Kittens. "I Stink." "The Little House."

I object to those books based on what I see as uneven rhyme schemes, lack of plot, and anti-urban sentiment. But my sons love them, can't get enough of them, sometimes sleep with them tucked under their arms.

So I smile and read and try to stay focused in the moment, though it's tempting to go over the grocery list in my head at these moments. And I remind myself that there will be a day, very soon, when I'd give anything to have them crawl in my lap and beg me to read a bad book.