I always kind of half joked that once our big girl started really reading, we would lose her to books.
This is what she does for many, many hours of each day: she sits in her large packing box, with a pillow and a book and a light and maybe a Ryvita, if Mr. Terrible gives her one even though I have stressed the inadvisability of letting her eat someplace where we can't see her at all, and she asks us to fold the lid closed, and she reads.
Mr. T and I had a really strange conversation today about whether or not we should allow her to sit in the box and read all day. I argued that since she'd been to church with us in the morning and socialized with her friends, and played out on the cold, cold playground for an hour or so with her sister, I could not think of any justifiable cause for forcing her to get out of the box. He was just worried (worrying is one of the things that Mr. T does best). I have to think, and please correct me if I'm wrong, that if she's getting dressed in the morning, taking a bit of exercise, seeing her friends, eating regular meals, sleeping, and bathing (which she is), I suppose all we can do is relax and keep feeding books down the chute.
Lift the box flap and SHWOOP...there goes Narnia...and Harry Potter...and the entire world of Oz...and Edward Eager...and Alice in Wonderland...and Roald Dahl...and Pippi Longstocking...and Terry Pratchett...and those cat warrior books...
Gone. Poof. Lost.
She is going to be pissed when she realizes how carsickness works.