Our active and delightful grandchildren are visiting for part of the week. My washing machine and dishwasher are groaning as they’re running practically 24 hours a day with grass-stained jeans, bathing suits, towels and T-shirts that somehow got splashed with mud.

Within eyesight of our driveway is a grassy area that provides a perfect circle for our young bikers. The four-year-old learned how to ride without training wheels a few months ago, and he boldly rides around and around the circle, a huge smile on his face the whole time.

His brother and sisters can go a little further, and their dad has them practicing for a children’s triathlon. They’re taking the training routine well, and seeing them ride with unbridled joy reminds me of my childhood afternoons on my bike.

In Louisiana, we lived in a neighborhood where everybody rode their bikes to the pool and each other’s’ houses.

In New York, we lived in a small community and all the kids rode their banana-seat bikes everywhere – the school, the park and to our grandparent’s store for gum and candy.

Of all the places I visited, though, the library was my favorite. At that time, the library in Olean, N.Y. was located in an old three-story stone building, and it looked and smelled the way old-time movies would have you believe.

Because I had my own library card – my most treasured possession – I was free to come and go to the library whenever I wanted. The basket on the front of the bike allowed me to check out four or five books, and I’d read those as fast as possible and head back for more.

For my grandchildren, riding bikes to the library would be a dangerous journey, but reading is still a pleasure. Their dad took them to a bookstore this weekend, and they came home with dozens of comics, most of which they’ve already read.

Usually we head to the library and come home with new tales and a few beloved favorites. In fact, there’s been some books they loved so much, we bought them.

One of their favorites is “Epossumondas Saves the Day” by Colleen Sally. The story takes place in Louisiana, and the book is a delight to read aloud.

I enjoy putting on a Southern accent when I read the story of the little possum that saves his mama, auntie and friends from the “great, huge, ugly Louisiana snapping turtle.”

The grandchildren always drag out two “Martha” books where a little otter has to learn to share her toys and say “sorry.” With siblings, a book about sharing and apologizing hits home.

A series we all enjoy is the “Pout-Pout Fish.” With a continual frown, the poor little fish has to overcome a sad, timid nature to conquer his fears.

The best part of reading to children is when they snuggle up close as we turn the pages, laugh about the adventures of the hero or heroine in the book and, at the end, when they beg us for just one more book.

They know we’ll always read one more before bedtime, and they think they’re pulling a fast one over on us. The truth is – the reader is the one who benefits from the closeness and bond created when stories are shared.

The smell of their freshly shampooed hair, the softness of their well-worn pajamas, and the way our feet intermingle underneath the afghan my grandmother crocheted for me years ago are worth more than gold.

Spring break 2019 is almost over, but I’ll always remember it as a week of readin’ and ridin’ and having little ones snuggled close by as they whisper “read it again.”

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.