My mom of course! Being the youngest of five children, I am amazed now, at the energy and drive my mom must have had to keep reading stories to us every night, after working long hours as a head nurse of a neonatal unit in St. John's. She always tells the story of when after working the night shift, I would escape my babysitter (lovely I am sure, but not mom) and creep into her bedroom, literally pick open her eye lids, and ask her to tell me a story. With infinite patience, she would oblige, often trying to skip pages of well known books until I corrected her, and let her know that the pages must have been stuck together, because she missed a part of the story. I remember Green eggs and ham as a favorite book, but that was a long time ago, and other names have long been forgotten. Like a warm fire, on a cold day in November, there was something about my mom reading to me that was the ultimate comfort as a child. That love of reading, and the comfort of a good book taking me some place magical was instilled by this ritual. Years later, when reading to my own daughter, trying to stay awake at bed time reading, I marvel at how she could have accomplished this feat will all five of us.
And of course, whether I'm reading to my daughter about pigeons and buses,cookies and a mouse, or the formidable Anne, I also have tried try to shorten the book, and heard the whisper of a sleepy child "Mom, you missed a part".