Not A Bush Rant

Searching L's room for gym clothes to wash, I came across the most expensive of the 3 X-Men compilation comics that we own. Perhaps I should say I came across the cover of this $25 book.
Look, I'm a dragon at heart. I don't hoard gold or princesses. I hoard books. It's my treasure. I read and re-read them until they're worn out; and then I put them on a shelf and buy a replacement copy, which I read until it is worn out. I've got books that I've re-glued because the bindings were falling apart, books with half the cover torn off, books that fell into the bathtub and books in pristine condition, waiting to be cracked open for the first time. (because I haven't quite worn out the original)
Books get ruined. It's a fact of life. A well loved book should be frayed at the edges, it's pages yellowed with time, creased at the bindings, and heavy with memories. Can you pull a book off the shelf and remember the first time you read it? I can. That's why it's treasure.
Anyway, I bought the X-Men books for L and introduced him to the wonderful world of superheroes that are fallible. The books, all 3 of them, live on his bed like stuffed animals might live on another child's bed. Clearly, he loves the stories.
But something had to be said about that empty cover.
So I said stuff.
The funny thing was, I wasn't mad. I should have been mad, or at least sad. But 'mommy mode' kicked in before my temper took control. I called his attention to the empty cover in my hand and said, "These books mean something to me. Don't they mean something to you?"
Now I was handling the situation, I really was. There was no need for the Hubby Man to step in, but he didn't know that. He heard my aggrieved tone, and did not see the grief etched on our son's face. He did not see that I was in the process of giving my son a lesson he should have learned a long time ago, but somehow missed out on. He didn't see that I wasn't really upset, but that I had to pretend to be in order to drive the lesson home. And he didn't see that I was succeeding. So, from his spot on the sofa he declares, "No more books in bed."

Oh, the horror! Not reading in bed?!? Without reading in bed, what else is there in life?
I carefully said, "You mean no sleeping with books, right? Not that he can't read in bed, but that he has to put them up when he goes to sleep? Right? Because you wouldn't tell your son that he can't read before bedtime..."
This was accompanied by much wiggling of eyebrows and expressions of surprise; with me praying he'd get the hint. L was so slow to take to reading; please don't take it away from him. hint hint hint.
My hubby is a good man, and he got it right away.
"Right. No more sleeping with books. You can clear a place on your dresser for them." He said.