The kids were ready for bed tonight with a good 45 minutes to spare. They wanted to play Munchkin, our current favorite game, but we’ve been playing a lot lately, so I suggested that we start a new book together. I told them that I had something in mind, and found the beautiful edition of The Hobbit that Sarah got for me many years ago. I’ve been putting off reading this with them because it is one of my favorite books; I didn’t want to drag them through it before they could appreciate it. And, truth be told, a small part of my heart would break if they didn’t find the magic in it.

With some trepidation I brought the book upstairs. Griffin was interested, with some reservations—we’ve had mixed results with chapter books. Maggie groaned and moaned, stating categorically that she didn’t like the book, despite knowing nothing about it. I told them a bit about the story—dwarves, goblins, a dragon—and we spent some time examining the beautiful cover. Griffin was in, but Maggie remained skeptical. I suggested that we give it a try.

As we began chapter one, “An Unexpected Party,” my fears were allayed. As I once was, they were captivated by the opening lines:

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

They giggled about the worms and then wanted to know so much more about this comfortable hole. By the time the first dwarves made their appearance, they were laughing and exclaiming about everything. They loved Bilbo’s obsession with food, particularly cakes, and were in hysterics over the emptying of his many pantries. When things took a serious turn, with the song about the misty mountains and the dragon’s depredations, they were both completely hooked. Griffin announced, “this is the best book ever” and Maggie, in an uncharacteristic turn, agreed.