Wild, just wild, about wonderful books (Anna)

We have a perpetual problem with library books in our house.

The problem goes something like this:

We borrow a bunch of kids' library books.
We cuddle up in bed, on the red chair, on the couch and read the books.
We fall in love with the books, and the cuddles and closeness they represent.
Emma learns all the words, until she can recite them to us.
The books become part of the family, and become symbols of our daughter's childhood.
We ignore the reminder emails from the library.
We take the library books back at the 11th hour, and painfully hand them over, feeling a bit like it's sacriligious to give them back. We swear that we will buy copies of our absolute favourites, a pledge that isn't feasible, practically or financially.
We borrow a bunch of new kids' books, and the cycle starts all over again.