Shhhhh! Baby Sleeping....

In How To Eat Fried Worms the main character, who has bet he will consume a worm every day for a month to get the money for a much coveted mini-bike, almost gets tricked into not making his midnight deadline because he is out on the town having fun. He remembers in time, wakes the neighborhood to witness, swallows a worm whole and barely squeaks in before the stroke of twelve. It was like that here today, but no one ate anything dug up from the yard. Scarlett’s grandma, Oba, came to take us to dinner and a dance performance in another town--both of which were very enjoyable, but left us with one sleepy baby on the return trip. I started to panic and was seriously contemplating either keeping her awake until we got home or pulling a “fried worm” and rousing her with the express purpose of reading her a book before putting her in bed so I could write about it. Have I lost my mind?! I am happy to report (and you are no doubt relieved to hear) that I did neither. I have chosen to review a book Oba (mostly) read to Scarlett earlier in the day while we were trying to bring her down from her televised Elmo fix. We didn’t stray very far though, since Scarlett got to hear about “please” and “thank you” and “nice to meet you” in Elmo’s Good Manners Game by Catherine Samuel. After yesterday’s disappointment, it seemed only fair.

http://www.jacquesdance.com/articles.html

http://www.amazon.com/Elmos-Good-Manners-Sesame-Street/dp/0375804137

Bait and Switch!

You know how sometimes you make a choice thinking it’s a good one and then, halfway through, you can’t remember why you ever thought it was a good idea? That happens to toddlers, too. Scarlett loves Elmo, but not in a healthy, public-television-is-good-for-my-developing-brain kinda way. No, you could more accurately call Scarlett’s relationship with the scruffy red muppet say-his-name-before-I-open-my-eyes-in-the-morning obsession. Scarlett wants all Elmo, all the time in multi-media format--she watches him On Demand thumbing through an Elmo’s Good Manners board book while singing along with him on Sesame Street.org as she waits for the day’s new episode to start on PBS. I’m telling you: obsessed. So, when given a choice of books to read for the night, she went, like a guided missile, for the Little Golden Book I Think That It Is Wonderful and Other Poems From Sesame Street, thinking, naturally, that Elmo would make an appearance. Sadly, the book was published a year before her dad was even born in about 1 B.E. (Before Elmo), meaning that, even though she asked for him multiple times per (rather boring) poetry-covered page, there was no Elmo to be had. This did not sit well, and neither did she. Before I could even finish reading the one about being new on the street, Elmo’s erstwhile love was signing and saying, “done.” I’m going to count it because I had the best intentions, but she may think twice the next time she gets lured by the siren song of Sesame Street.

http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/I_Think_That_It_Is_Wonderful_%28book%29

I Scream, You Scream...

An advantage to having significantly older siblings is getting taught a host of things you would never learn otherwise. Being the oldest child, I never fully realized this until I watched my own children pass on useful knowledge to the next in line--including the idea that canned whip cream sprayed directly into your mouth tastes better. Nick says we are turning Scarlett into a baby diabetic but really it just seems like we are teaching her to be precocious about the finer things in life, like realizing cookies are best in dough form, you should lick the beater when someone makes brownies, and, most of all, whip cream does taste better from the can. I knew Scarlett would love to see one of her favorite characters getting sweet treats in Curious George Goes To An Ice Cream Shop by Margret and H.A. Rey because it shows George with an enormous sundae he makes himself when the Man With the Big Yellow Hat leaves an inquisitive monkey to his own devices with barrels of ice cream and shelves of sundae fixin’s. Frankly, I think George is less “curious” and more “badly behaved," but he can sling a mean scoop. The whole time we were reading, Scarlett kept saying, “yummy,” which is exactly what I was thinking. Never mind the flagrant health code violation of having a naughty monkey serve your ice cream, that stuff looked like a twenty-scoop, whip cream-covered, bananas peeking out, cherry on top party waiting to happen.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._A._Rey

http://www.amazon.com/Curious-George-Goes-Cream-Shop/dp/0395519373

Who Will Play?

Children’s stories can reveal very deep truths of human psychology (and probably animal as well). For instance, the protagonist of Leslie McGuire’s Who Will Play With Little Dinosaur? searches for companionship because his mother can’t play with him. The second we are born we are both intimately attached and destined to leave our family, specifically our mothers. My wife, through her hard work, has been able to give Scarlett a full-time playmate in myself. I want her to play with other children and that will come. But for now I am happy that we can wrestle, play with blocks, and all the other wonderful things that come with a child Scarlett’s age.

Say, Say, Oh Playmate...

Why is it that when I sit down at the computer Scarlett can’t be close enough to me and won’t leave me alone for a second, but in the store she becomes a whirling dervish lightning streak I can’t keep track of? Case in point: Trying to do the taxes, she is on my lap with her foot in my face but at the thrift store looking for books, she climbs onto a chair placed inexplicably on top of a dining room table in the furniture section. I think it’s because childhood, like real estate, has three important things to consider: Attention, attention, attention. She needs something to do and, more importantly, someone to do it with. On Mondays and Wednesdays when I work all day and into the night, Daddy and Scarlett are partners in crime for long hours and most of the attention duty falls to my sweet husband--including reading a book to the baby for Mommy’s overly ambitious blog project. I think this whole attention thing may have prompted Nick to choose Who Will Play With Little Dinosaur? by Leslie McGuire for last night‘s reading. It’s a snapshot of every child’s major dilemma: How can I find someone to drop everything and focus exclusively on me? Little Dinosaur is all cute and endearing and hard to resist, especially with one lonely tear rolling down his Jurassic cheek. Coincidentally, Little Scarlett is pretty hard to resist herself--but I’m not laying an egg to provide her with a friend.

http://www.worldcat.org/title/who-will-play-with-little-dinosaur/oclc/18225519

http://lesliemcguire.com/

Can I get an oink, brothers and sisters?

They say the only sure things are death and taxes. Well, they must not have kids. Parents know the one great constant in the universe is that children will memorize every unflattering or inappropriate thing you ever utter--and spout it back verbatim, usually publicly and always accurately. I was standing in front of an open fridge prowling for I-don’t-know-what, and apparently looking as if I might devour the whole lot, when Scarlett came up and asked, “You a pig?” Now, I may have some less than healthy eating habits, and may frequently refer to raiding the pantry as being piggy, but I’ll be darned if I’m going to be called out by a child who has a Pavlovian drooling-dog response to the sound of the Kitchen Aid mixer. When I assured her that no, I wasn’t a pig, she rummaged around on the bottom shelf innocently asking, “I a pig?” I’ve seen the floor after she eats and wasn’t willing to commit to her non-porcine status, so I just told her to scamper away on her little cloven hooves and let me close the door. But it got me thinking about pigs, and manners, and smarty pantses, so it seemed like a good day for reading Nick Ward’s How to be a Practically Perfect Pig to Scarlett and her friend, Joshua. The book lists how to pig it up correctly including leaving your bed rumpled and giving a loud belch after every meal. It’s good advice…if you’re a pig.

http://www.amazon.com/How-Practically-Perfect-Picture-Books/dp/0439998298

http://www.jacketflap.com/persondetail.asp?person=117382

Rise and Shine!

My eldest daughter, a girl after my own soul when it comes to a love of the written word, had me all to herself for five years. It was just the two of us and I felt the tremendous responsibility of parenting and protecting this little person all on my own. I tried valiantly (and, I realize now, futilely) to shield her from feeling left out of the two-parent world. I changed the lyrics of songs and banished all daddy-and- kids books from her rather impressive little library--except one. When someone, I don’t recall who after twenty eventful years, gave my sweet little baby a book about the work day of a farmer and his young daughter, I wanted to politely tuck it away as soon as possible and pretend it got lost somewhere along the way. Sure, it was a simple, beautiful book with rich illustrations, but it didn’t pass the no-daddy test, so it had to go. I didn’t count on one thing: the kid loved the book at first sight. Even at six months old she wanted me to read it multiple times a day. She could make the sounds of all the animals before she could say most words. She didn’t see what her world was missing, only an engaging story. So, Farm Morning by David McPhail not only stayed in our family collection, it has remained a treasured favorite.

http://www.amazon.com/Farm-Morning-David-McPhail/dp/0833573977

http://www.harcourtbooks.com/authorinterviews/bookinterview_mcphail.asp

Daddy's Girl

I took her into the bedroom with the books she had never read before. She softly walked over to the bookshelf and glanced back at me, as if for reassurance. I responded with a smile and sent her the psychic message to choose a story for us to share. Like Indiana Jones choosing the grail, she chose wisely--a book marred by age and wear amidst shining pretty things.
When I first sat down with her and looked at the book’s title, Farm Morning, I felt that I was in for another round of “the cow says moo.” I was instead surprised by lush art and a touching story that reminded me very much of my life with Scarlett. I wake with her and I set with her, in between she kicks my wife in the stomach and face all night in our family bed. Whenever I am blessed with time with my daughter, I wish that more people were able to have the opportunity I do. I am lucky, my life is fairly easy and I have learned to be grateful for it. Scarlett brings me back to reality as she is done with the book after two pages and squirms to get away, but I hold tight and create a lovely childhood memory.
The book was about a father’s relationship with his girl, but it was also about finding meaning and beauty in our trivial activities. Every act, every dish cleaned, every sock picked up, every hour worked, every diaper changed can be an act of submission to God. I would like to do this happily, like the duo in Farm Morning.

Pardon me, is that a wasket in your basket?

A couple of weeks ago, a pretty, popular girl in the 8th grade Physical Science class at the junior high where I work took a few moments away from the homework assignment she was copying from a not-as-pretty, socially awkward girl to say that she’d had a dream about “that science guy.” When she was greeted with blank stares (different from the typical blank stares one sees in junior high science classes), she elaborated with, “You know, that science guy who wrote Dr. Seuss,“ and then nodded her empty, perfectly highlighted little head at a poster of Albert Einstein on the wall. So, in an effort to inoculate Scarlett against scientific and literary ignorance (and, hopefully, encourage her to be a nice person), the winner of the inaugural reading was Dr. Seuss’ There’s A Wocket In My Pocket! There are weird and happy and crabby and fanciful creatures galore and Scarlett decided that noothgrushes who sit upon toothbrushes are “naughty.” On a parent note, while you know already that you should take time every day to read to your children, especially the little ones who can’t yet read to themselves, the publicly recorded commitment to do it and comment on it every day seems a little intimidating. Well, seemed a little intimidating. Tonight when the dishwasher was loaded, the T.V. was off and the three of us were curled up on the couch checking out tellars, nellars and gellars, I realized this idea gicks tass!

http://www.amazon.com/Theres-Wocket-Pocket-Seusss-Ridiculous/dp/0679882839

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Seuss

Inspiration!

I realized something today: I freaking LOVE books--the look, the smell, the feel, the everythingness of them. Nick (the handsome hubby), Scarlett (the rowdy toddler) and I went downtown on a rainy Sunday afternoon and stopped at the used bookstore. I've been there many times and have carted home many a book with a penciled price inside the front cover, but today was different. When I saw the neat, heaping piles of multi-category books (Madeline next to Mooncake on top of Nancy Drew under Berenstain Bears!), my first instinct was to knock them all down and roll around in them like Scrooge McDuck and his money. I wanted ALL of them and I wanted to mind-meld with my baby and download every incredible word I've ever read from them to her. Right now! But that isn't practical or (outside of the occasional daydream where I have Vulcan abilities) possible. Besides, that would rob us of the best part of parent-toddler reading time: the snuggle. So, I propose the next best thing--we will read Scarlett a different book every day for an entire year and then tell you how it went. Suggestions?