Where The Wild Things Are
by Maurice Sendak
I read this book to my son every night for many months way back when, twenty years ago. He loved it.
And now, said Max. “Let the wild rumpus start.”
He especially loved when the wild rumpus started and I would often make different noises as I turned those pages where the rumpusing took place. For some reason, Jon’s favorite seemed to be when I simply said (in a deep un-momma-like voice), “RUMPUS! RUMPUS! RUMPUS!”
But I think his favorite part of the book was:
And into the night of his very own room, he found his supper waiting for him. And it was still hot.
Because Jon loved home and he loved things to be cozy. And what would be cozier than coming back from a wild rumpus and finding a nice warm meal in your very own room?