I Want To Grow Old With You

Connor once went through a phase of intense concern over what would happen to me when I got old. He would tell me every day what provisions he would make for my golden years--bring me groceries, buy me a house, take me to the doctor--and how he was going to pay for these plans. Just to yank his chain a bit, I told him that sometimes old people have to wear diapers and asked if he was going to change my diapers one day. Not expecting such a dilemma, he pondered a long time for a four year-old. Thinking he might have forgotten the original question, I asked him again if he was willing to do old-age diaper duty. He looked at me so innocently and said, “No…but I’ll pay someone else to do it!” Which sounds like a solution we can all live with. It’s hard to contemplate the aging of our loved ones, and fully absorbing mortality is almost impossible. As a girl, my grandmother made me promise that, when her time came, I would make sure she was sent to the next life with her toenails painted their customary red. I made the commitment never realizing that one day I would actually be insisting on it during funeral preparations. But insist I did. And prevailed. In Angela Johnson’s When I Am Old With You, a little boy projects into the future where he and his beloved grandpa will age together forever. I wish that could truly happen.

http://www.amazon.com/When-Old-You-Orchard-Paperbacks/dp/0531070352

http://aalbc.com/authors/angela.htm

Differently Abled

On July 26, 2010, the Americans With Disabilities Act celebrated its twentieth anniversary. While it’s pretty amazing to contemplate the protections the act has afforded the differently-abled, it is also mind-boggling to realize it took so long for such protections to find their way into law and that twenty years just isn’t very long. To put it in personal perspective for me, that means the act has been around less than half my life and the opportunities and rights I have always enjoyed having been blessed with a sound mind and body have only been mandated for everyone for two decades. I have a kid older than that. Having worked extensively with the disabled population for the last three years, I have been afforded a first-hand look at the challenges they face--and also the gifts and talents they possess. It’s often hard for people who don’t know and love these kids to interact with them. I forget this until we go on outings and see the varied levels of comfort people have with the unknown. Some do great either naturally or because of someone in their life, most experience good-intentioned awkwardness, and a very small few exhibit some malice. But mostly, people just want to know they are interacting properly with a population they know little about. In Stephen Cosgrove’s Fanny, a three-legged cat is sorely misunderstood by the barnyard, until a little puppy who doesn’t know any better makes friends. Sometimes different is just different until it becomes familiar.

http://www.amazon.com/Fanny-Serendipity-Stephen-Cosgrove/dp/0843114606

http://www.stephencosgrove.com/

Money Matters

I better not let Suze Orman hear me say it, but I’m not very good with money. I’m not saying I don’t have any money skills--I’m a thrift store shopper, bargain hunter, and make-it-from-scratcher---but I’ve also historically been impulsive and generous without being judicious sometimes. Relationships and right now are just more important in my life than long-term security has been, so it’s usually feast or famine in my world. It’s hard to believe I’m as fiscally challenged as I am because I have spent much of my life with people who know how to get, save, and pinch the bejesus out of pennies (and nickels and dimes and dollars). My brother John used to take the brunt of my bad money management, because he loved money (his first bank was a tiny combination safe) but he also loved me and didn’t want to see me suffer when the famine hit. I clearly remember one Christmas when his pockets weren’t deep enough to fend me off, poor kid. We were shopping and I saw a genuine, artificial ruby brooch and earring set that our red-loving grandma just had to have. My money supply was depleted, but I wheedled my brother into “helping” me make my purchase. It pained him to pull every one of those coins into the light, but he did it anyway. In Judith Viorst’s Alexander, Who Used to Be Rich Last Sunday, our bad-day boy just can’t keep a hold on his cash. That’s because it’s super hard.

http://www.amazon.com/Alexander-Used-Rich-Last-Sunday/dp/0689711999

http://www.bookbrowse.com/biographies/index.cfm?author_number=502

Where Did You Come From?

If you read comic books or have seen a superhero movie in the last few years, you’re most likely familiar with origin stories--those tales of how a well-known character came to be. Some of the characters we feel attachment to rely heavily on their beginning as part of their narrative. For instance, we know in great detail what happened in the infancy of Harry Potter and his story depends on it. On the other hand, some characters spring to life fully formed and defined without much in the way of backstory. And sometimes that works just fine. We don’t need to know what Rocky did in second grade to understand his present-day egg-drinking, stair-running self. But, occasionally, we want to know more about what forces and events shaped a certain character, what brought them to now. The success of “Origins: Wolverine” and “The Dark Knight” would seem to support that idea. I would think creating an origin story would be tricky business--you have to be true to what has already existed while providing new detail that could be rejected. Especially if the character is a firmly established part of popular culture. Even more so if it is part of kid culture. It is the rare American child who is not familiar with Emily Elizabeth’s giant canine pal, Clifford, but one day Norman Bridwell decided to write Clifford The Small Red Puppy to let us in on what it was like when he first got here. Everybody has to start somewhere.

http://www.amazon.com/Clifford-Small-Puppy-Norman-Bridwell/dp/0590442945

http://www.readingrockets.org/books/interviews/bridwell

It's Complicated

You’d think being a teacher by profession would make you a natural for teaching your own kids. While it’s true those called to teach have a certain approach to the world inevitably shared with the children they’ve brought into a family, the complicated nature of formal teaching (and the complicated nature of parent-child relationships) can challenge even the most skilled educator when it comes to their own small people. Much like any part of parenting, each parent has to choose a method that works for them. Sometimes you can teach any kid anything--except your own kid. I tried to work in Keilana’s classroom from preschool all the way through sixth grade, and we never could quite make it work. There was something about my presence in her learning domain that just brought out the most frustrating aspects of our relationship. Connor, on the other hand, would completely revert to earlier days and spend the whole time being my “baby” instead of branching out and participating. Addison, my strict little fraulein, had/has such a need for control, that having another person telling her what to do during the learning process was one person too many. So, despite having taught over three thousand other peoples’ children, the first three of mine have been unimpressed with my academic credentials. And now there’s Scarlett. We’ve been working together a lot lately and I think it’s going pretty well. In Susan Hood’s The Schoolhouse, Elmo and the Sesame Street crew go to school…without their mommies.

http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Sesame_Street_School

http://www.jacketflap.com/persondetail.asp?person=148275

What's In A Name?

I think there’s a case to be made that some attitudes are nearly universal. Most everybody thinks baby things are cute, smoking is bad for you, and three-day weekends rock. And every woman I know has different reactions to being called “Honey,” based on the age of the caller and the circumstances of the calling. Little old guy who needs help with his groceries? Fine. And adorable. Any other guy you don’t share a name or a bed with? No bueno. And not even a little bit adorable. Which is strange in a way. It’s the same word, regardless of who uses it, so why does it matter? It just does. If we’ve learned nothing else from Romeo and Juliet and rap music, it’s that names, and who calls who what, matter very much. If you’re still not on board, just think back to how you felt the first time some kid bagging your groceries or making your sub sandwich called you “ma’am” or “sir.” I still don’t like it, and I have kids older than some of those kids. There’s also a spectrum of rationality for our reactions to the things we are called, as well. Sometimes we just don’t like being called something (chick, baby, dude, kid), and sometimes we object because the name isn’t even accurate (Mrs., fireman). In Conrad J. Storad’s Don’t Call Me Pig!, a feisty javelina tries to set the record straight. Good luck with that ’cause accuracy is hard to come by sometimes.

http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Call-Pig-Javelina-Story/dp/1891795015

http://www.conradstorad.com/about.php

Words

Language is tricky. As a speech person and avid big mouth, I have years of talking experience and research behind me, but the wonder of the whole thing still leaves me, well, speechless at times. The encoding and decoding process of verbal and written communication is so complex, it’s a miracle we ever learn to do it at all, let alone with some proficiency (provided you think there is any proficiency--and looking at my students’ papers, sometimes I wonder…). It’s even more bizarre that babies can do it. In fact, they come here with the tools for language already in place and start dipping their pudgy toes in the convoluted communication waters before they can barely focus one eye at a time. Beyond the technical skills needed to produce language, there is a whole cognitive obstacle course to navigate--context, interpretation, cultural influences--before the magic of meaning happens. Which is another aspect of communication that kids do in their own small-person way. Years ago we were visiting friends with a four year-old daughter who mixed up her shoes in the on-putting process. When her father told her that her shoes were on the wrong feet, she looked up at him, so innocent and sincere, and said, “But, Daddy, these are the only feet I have.” And that prankster called language scored again. In Tedd Arnold’s Even More Parts, the poor little narrator gets worked over by simile, metaphor, and symbolism. Words are crazy. It’s enough to make you lose your mind.

http://www.amazon.com/Even-More-Parts-Tedd-Arnold/dp/0803729383

http://www.patriciamnewman.com/arnold.html

Boob Tube

When my brothers and I were growing up, there were only three television channels which constituted the sum total of viewing opportunities. And that was only when the antennae was in exactly the right spot after an hour of shouting adjustments to your dad on the roof. Given these factors, I never developed much of a relationship with TV and sometimes even felt a bit wary of it--cartoons were violent, soap operas mind-numbing and crime shows too scary for kids. But I am often not the only decision-maker in my house, so television has been more of a presence at some times than others. Until I get fed up again and throw it out again. I spent one evening almost twelve years ago flipping through the channels during “family viewing” time and could not find a single thing that did not offend me. So, I got rid of it all. No cable, VCR, antennae. Nothing. And that lasted quite a few years until I loved somebody with a TV habit again. Since then, the television has come creeping (sometimes bulldozing) back into our daily lives. Sadly, even reaching the toddler. The other day, Scarlett woke up and the first thing she said was, “I need to watch Dora.” Like TV was her coffee…or heroin. That was the last straw and the TV is objecta non grata again. In the Berenstain Bears’ Too Much TV, Mama puts her paw down and turns off the tube. Oh, that’s what quiet sounds like…

http://www.amazon.com/Berenstain-Bears-Much-First-Books/dp/0394865707

http://www.kidsreads.com/authors/au-berenstain-jan-stan.asp

Mama's Gonna Take You For A Ride In The Park

Sometimes we want things so badly that we call in favors from the universe and will our desires into reality. It doesn’t always work, and the results aren’t always spectacular, but every once in awhile thinking makes it so. And if we give the universe a little nudge with our own actions, so much the better. I changed the words to “Hush, Little Baby” when Keilana was tiny. Partly because I was a single mom and it seemed unfair for “daddy” to get all the credit, and partly because I’m just that contrary. Since Keilana was an angel as long as someone was paying attention to her (a bit like now), I did a lot of singing, dancing and reading with her to keep the peace. I sang the modified, mom-centric lyrics so often during those first years of parenthood that I forgot there were any others, and the first time I heard someone sing the classic version again, I had a moment of cognitive dissonance. I had literally created an alternate reality where the words to the song had always been about babies and mamas, so someone crooning about daddies and mockingbirds did not compute. So, even now when I sing to Scarlett after all these years, I still get to be the song’s good guy. She likes my version of the song, but she’s also open to mixing things up a little--which is why she likes Sylvia Long’s unique interpretation of Hush Little Baby. And so do I.

http://www.amazon.com/Hush-Little-Baby-Sylvia-Long/dp/0811814165

http://www.sylvia-long.com/

Stool Pigeon

From upstairs, I heard that sound every parent dreads. The I’m-so-hurt-not-a-lot-of-sound-comes-out cry. As I fought to get over the baby gate, I was met by Addison hip-carrying a distraught Scarlett down the stairs. While I tried to figure out what had happened, Addison claimed she had “no idea” why Scarlett was so upset. Which might have worked except for one thing: Scarlett reaching enough verbal maturity to rat mean big sisters out. As Addison continued to feign mystification, Scarlett pointed to her sister, with a finger still bearing the telltale red welt of being recently pinched, bellowed “Her hurt me!” and began relating a story of little sisters wanting to get into places big sisters didn’t want them and the painful results. Miraculously, just then Addison regained enough memory to admit that she might have “accidentally shut the door on Scarlett’s hand.” Coming on the heels of an afternoon of bickering over babies being allowed to do anything they want, the accidental component of Addison’s story rang a bit hollow. And so it goes for little siblings everywhere. It’s nice to be the baby and get all that attention, but you take some abuse. In families, the proverbial you-know-what rolls you-know-where--and the shortest ones are at the bottom of the sibling hill. In Kathleen N. Daly’s Little Sister, Liz feels cheated when big brother David ditches her for the older kids but realizes he still loves her when he comes to her rescue. I guess blood is thicker than squabbles.

http://www.amazon.com/Little-Sister-Big-Golden-Books/dp/0307682560

http://www.librarything.com/author/dalykathleenn

The Shape Of Things

After spending the majority of my adult life working two, three, and sometimes even four jobs at once, having the opportunity to spend more time with my two year-old makes me profoundly grateful. It also makes me much more keenly aware of the basics--colors, numbers, letters--and how our lives are touched by them. One fundamental concept I haven’t ever spent any real time thinking about (at least not since I was learning it myself) is how shape literally shapes our world. Of course, I know that what shape people are in--thin, fat, tall, short--is socially important, but what I didn’t realize until now is how plentiful shapes are in our daily experience. There are general shape references like shape up, in shape, out of shape, shipshape, shape-shifter, etc. And more shape-centric language like love triangle, square deal, square peg, circle time, circle the drain or the wagons, baseball diamond, the Hotel Diamond. You’re starting to see it, right? Some shape references are more general, like the oval of a track, the rectangle of football fields and basketball courts, and the highly recognizable octagon of the stop sign, and some are very specific like the Oval Office, the Pentagon, and the Bermuda Triangle. Perhaps you have picked up on the prevalence of shape stuff in your life, but this is new revelation for me. In Judy Schachner’s Skippyjon Jones Shape Up, the spunky chihuahua finds out shapes are everywhere. And so did I now that my experience has come full circle.

http://www.amazon.com/Skippyjon-Jones-Shape-Judy-Schachner/dp/0525479570

http://www.judithbyronschachner.com/skippyjonjones/

Now Hear This!

My husband says I don’t “translate well to cyberspace.” Mostly what that means is that, contrary to general popular belief and the attitude of my ex-husbands, I am less offensive when you can actually hear my voice as opposed to just reading it. Apparently, my husband is not the only one who thinks that. My dear friend Christina, upon seeing an email reply I had drafted to a student once, said, “Man, you are a…well, let’s say ‘witch.’” I prefer to think of myself as succinct and forthright. I try to tell my students that email is a concise form of immediate communication--and IMing and texting shouldn’t happen at all--and if they want in-depth conversation to come to class and we’ll bond. Which we do because I can talk at length in a lecture (by definition) and they can hear my tone, inflection, pace, and pauses (unless they are being fiendishly clever by hiding their Ipod earbuds under their hoodie). And that makes a big difference. I get in “trouble” all the time because it seems the average person’s eye is not calibrated to pick up sarcasm. If they don’t hear it, they don’t get it. Honestly, sometimes if they do hear it, they don’t get it, but there’s a better chance if I’m actually vocalizing. I’m a speech teacher and an actress--sound is vital to performance. In Al Perkins’ The Ear Book, tribute is paid to those little speakers on the sides of our heads. All hail the ear!

http://www.amazon.com/Ear-Book-Bright-Early-Books/dp/0394811992

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Perkins_%28children%27s_author%29

Letter Rip

Choosing a child’s name is a daunting and overwhelming process. The responsibility of deciding what another person will be called forever is huge. When they brought me Keilana’s birth certificate application for my signature, I had my first parental anxiety attack. What if I was making a terrible decision? What if she hated it and needed therapy to get over it? What if it didn’t match her or her personality? And so on. It took me hours to put pen to paper and the nurse got pretty exasperated. When we found out Connor was a boy, “Kiefer” was the name we chose. But I had a dream that it wasn’t the right name--although the dream-giver wasn’t kind enough to let me know what the right name was. So, after much debate, we chose “Connor,” but it took me two years to really settle into it. Nicknames have to be considered, as well. I’m sure my parents didn’t think of the problems created by naming me something that rhymes with “coyote,” but grade-schoolers were all over it. And you have to worry about initials, too. No parent wants to saddle their kid with heinous initials, but finding something that works is a challenge. We wanted Addison’s middle name to be “Shea,” because it is a family name. However, if you have a last name that starts with “S,” Addison Shea is not going to work, right? I thought of this when I read Martha Alexander’s A, You’re Adorable. Letters are hard-core.

http://www.amazon.com/Youre-Adorable-Martha-Alexander/dp/0439071577

http://loganberrybooks.com/most-alexander.html

Dog Days

I firmly believe people shouldn’t have pets unless they are willing to responsibly own them. For me, that includes feeding, housing, grooming, and nurturing them properly--walking them in the rain, resisting the urge to beat the sam hill out of them when they destroy stuff, even providing expensive medical care if necessary. Since pet owners are required to do these things, and they take great amounts of effort and exorbitant funds, I rarely have pets. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been involved with other people’s pets. Not hardly. I seem to universally attract people who have a thing for animals, especially dogs. My brother Todd once smuggled a tiny puppy onto an airplane flight in a shoe box so he could take it home with him. My kids once bonded so completely with some stray-dog puppies born in my bedroom closet that I woke up with my bed full of children and bar-of-soap sized dogs tangled in a big, snoring pile. My grandparents had a miniature poodle (possibly the nastiest of all dog temperments) which looked adorable in hair bows, but was a vicious whirling dervish of teeth to anyone but my grandmother. And it is a running joke between my brothers and I that, if there are multiple lives, we want to come back in the next one as our mother’s dog--talk about a cushy gig. In Dav Pilkey’s Dogzilla, a giant Corgi terrorizes the mouse town with his stinky breath. Reason number two I don’t have pets.

http://www.amazon.com/Dogzilla-Dav-Pilkey/dp/0152239456

http://www.pilkey.com/

Body Art

Since Keilana was an only child until age five, she had to be really creative when it came to the blame game. Being the only small person around doesn’t bode well when something gets broken or spilled or drawn on. Especially drawn on. Big people sometimes do those other things, but they rarely go crazy with the Magic Markers. One day I found two year-old Keilana completely covered head-to-toe with ink. When I demanded to know why she had colored all over herself, she said that she hadn’t. When I got my best indignant mother voice going and asked if she didn’t draw on herself who did, she pointed at my mom’s dog and said, “Rary did it.” The dog? The dog used its non-opposable-thumb-having paws to color all over the toddler? Sure. I have discovered over the years that my attitude toward body art is flexible. With Scarlett being in color-on-everything-even-herself mode, I am back where unfettered marker use is not allowed. We’ve laid down the rule for Scarlett: only on paper, not your body. One evening she was trying to be good, but her resolve waned and the skin decorating started. When I took the pens away, instead of throwing a fit, Scarlett came over, pointed to my ankle tattoo, and said, “Only on paper!” Busted. Every parent thinks their child is a genius, but mine is an evil genius. In Robert Munsch’s Purple, Green and Yellow, another diabolical little girl gets her marker-art on. Lord, help us.

http://www.amazon.com/Purple-Yellow-Annikins-Robert-Munsch/dp/1554511135

http://robertmunsch.com/purple-green-and-yellow/

What's My Line?

For a variety of reasons, I’ve always felt a kinship with Matthew Perry’s “Chandler” character from the show “Friends.” He is intense and emotionally volatile without wanting to be, has a sarcastic edge to his communication that is not very warm and fuzzy and often misconstrued, and struggles to maintain healthy relationships despite a colorful history of family dysfunction. We’re a lot alike, he and I. Another commonality we share is that we have to explain what it is we do for a living. It is a running gag on the show that no one can quite understand or remember Chandler’s job description. I run into the same thing, especially with my extended family, all the time. People know I do something with speech, so they automatically assume I am a speech pathologist working with the communication-impaired. When I try to explain that I don’t help people with speech disabilities, but rather instruct people who can already talk communicate more effectively, they stare at me blankly. So, I just say, “I’m a teacher,” much like all the Friends default to, “Chandler does something with numbers.” I think most of my relatives are just glad I finally get paid to do what I always did best: talk. In Jimmy Thomson’s The Koala Who Bounced, no one understands what the springy little eucalyptus-muncher is all about until he finds his niche. I teach Public Speaking, Chandler does the W.E.N.U.S, Karri bounces. It’s what we do, but some people just don’t get it.

http://www.bookworm.com.au/Book/The-Koala-Who-Bounced-Pocket-Edition-9781740518932.aspx

http://www.jimmythomson.com/

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

Four years ago, I had a really bad day. Well, I had really bad morning that turned into a really nice day. The day before the morning, I poured money I didn’t have into a car I could barely keep running for repairs which were cost-inflated and poorly done thinking I had extended the limping life of my little red car a few more (hopefully) months. Alas, as I trotted out the next morning, dressed for the exercising I would get once my newly-overhauled ride got me to the cheap gym at the edge of town, I was in for disappointment. No spark. No turnover. No deal. No dice. I was so distraught, I crawled right back into bed, workout clothes, muddy shoes and all, and pulled the covers over my head, determined never to leave my bed again. My sweet Nick, who is ordinarily mystified and/or annoyed by such drama, got one of those rare flashes of insight from the universe and did just the right thing--he walked to the store and bought me a new bike. A beautiful, electric blue bike just made for cruising with a nice, wide seat and none of those pesky gears I can’t use anyway. And to top it off, Keilana put baskets and a bell with an “I heart my bike” sticker on it for my birthday. In H.A. Rey’s Curious George Rides a Bike, the little guy gets into some serious bike mischief. He can’t help it. He hearts his bike.

http://www.amazon.com/Curious-George-Rides-Bike-Rey/dp/0395174449

http://www.kidsreads.com/authors/au-rey-ha.asp

Nature Lover?

In “Titanic,” Jack tells Rose she seems like an “indoor girl.” I have two responses to that: 1. Oh, yeah? Who survived the freezing cold ocean? and 2. What’s wrong with being an indoor girl? Nice things happen indoors--temperature control, shade, bug-free space--and being outside is overrated. Of course, I’m a committed indoor girl myself. I’d like to be more physical (especially with a metabolism that has now come to a screeching halt) and in touch with nature (I think), but I’d rather curl up and read a book than almost anything. And one outdoor thing I’ve particularly had baggage with is camping. It might be because my dad was as intense about camping as he is about everything (which is very), or it might be because I have kids (and moms get the short end of the camping stick still having to do everything but in user-hostile conditions), or it might just be as simple as loving the great indoors. I decided a number of years ago to reclaim camping--or at least make my peace with it--but I wanted it on my own terms, so I brought paper, plastic and instant everything. If I was going to spend the night in the wilderness, I didn’t want to have to cook and wash dishes, too. It turned out to be fun and not nearly as painful as I feared. In Lara Rice’s Miss Piggy Camps Out, the Muppet diva gets primitive. Well, as primitive as we indoor girls can stand.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Miss-Piggy-Camps-LARA-RICE/book/1592262120/

http://www2.scholastic.com/browse/contributor.jsp?id=169151

Getting To Know You

Ultrasound technology is great for practical reasons during pregnancy--to monitor baby’s growth, stay aware of complications, guide care providers--but I think the impractical psychological benefits are important, too. Even when you’re the pregnant one, the whole thing seems a bit unreal sometimes, but there is nothing like seeing your little prawn-shaped progeny on the screen to provide a reality check of the nicest kind. Not that expectant families who do not have access to ultrasound or choose not to use it are less connected to their babies, it’s just that seeing that tiny heart beating in grainy grey-scale changes things somehow. There is also the chance to wrap your head around what style of little person you’re getting before the emotional pandemonium of the delivery room. When I was pregnant with Connor, for the first six months I thought we were having a girl. Not that I was set on a girl, just somehow anticipated one. When the ultrasound revealed a boy, I had to revamp a bit, including finding a name that wasn’t Kelsey. After trying a whole list of boys’ names, we finally stayed with Connor--but it took me quite awhile to readjust. Imagine how that would have played itself out if I hadn’t had a chance to “meet” Connor on the screen. In Suzanne Williams’ Mommy Doesn’t Know My Name, one little girl gets called all sorts of sweet stuff not on her birth certificate. Maybe her mommy just needed more time to get to know her.

http://www.amazon.com/Mommy-Doesnt-Know-My-Name/dp/0395779790

http://www.suzanne-williams.com/books.html

Terror Alert

Although I fight fiercely for my kids and my causes, I’m basically a scaredy cat. Lots of things frighten me--earthquakes, serial killers, E coli, racism--and I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about things that will probably never happen. But one thing creeps me out more than the others: the dark. I am one hundred percent, bona fide, need a nightlight, can’t stand next to a bed while getting into it afraid of the dark. Even though I’m the mom now, whenever the electricity goes out, rather than confidently calling out to the kids that I will come get them (like my mother did and moms are supposed to do), I feel like curling up whimpering somewhere until someone with a flashlight finds me. Did I mention I can’t handle the dark? One particularly traumatic babysitting encounter forever sealed my fear into adulthood. Alone except for two sleeping children in a huge, dark, echoing house and getting a call from nature, I began groping around for the door to the downstairs bathroom. Finding a knob, I opened the door…to come snarling face to screaming in terror face with the German Shepherd family guard dog. It was one of the most profoundly frightening events in my memory, and I still experience the whole thing vividly on occasion. In Mercer Mayer’s There’s Something In My Attic, a brave little girl lassoes a pesky monster to get him out of her hair. I think I would have gone the fetal-position, whimpering route.

http://www.amazon.com/Theres-Something-My-Attic/dp/0140548130

http://www.littlecritter.com/about_mercer_mayer.html

Kids Are People, Too

One of the most important things parents can provide for their children is opportunity. Opportunity for the basics--healthy food, clean water, fresh air--but also the chance to grow, experience, and experiment within safe boundaries and without unnecessary limits. All parents feel the desire to give their children the broadest horizons possible, but what that looks like and how it is achieved differs. For some parents it is Baby Einstein videos and private schools. For some, it is competitive teams and tough coaches. For me, especially as the mother of three daughters, an indispensable facet of “giving my kids everything” is doing my best to make my children aware of strategies for overcoming gender bias. Which is an uphill task at times since some people don’t even believe that gender discrimination still exists, if it ever did. But attending “Take Our Daughters To Work Day” for a total of ten years with some combination of daughters, I got to experience eye-opening statements and behavior that indicate there’s still work to be done in the struggle for equality. We treat our boys and girls differently, we just do. And we have to consciously work at changing that--gets our boys in the kitchen, get our girls under the hood, get everybody changing diapers and taking out trash. In Herman Parish’s Good Driving, Amelia Bedelia, our favorite maid isn’t very good behind the wheel. Maybe if she sat on her dad’s lap as a little girl and learned the basics, things would be different.

http://www.amazon.com/Good-Driving-Amelia-Bedelia-Camelot/dp/038072510X

http://www.authorsillustrators.com/parish/parish.htm

Cute Things In Small Packages

No doubt about it, baby things are cute. Even gross things like pigs--with their scary tusks and snorty snouts--are irresistibly adorable in their miniature form. Piglets at the fair are almost as sweet as the cotton candy and funnel cakes. And baby things make us lose our minds. Many unaware shoppers have been caught off-guard in the middle of pet ownership with a scruffy dog or capricious cat that used to be a precious little puff ball in a box outside WalMart. One of the most cuteness-overload things I’ve ever seen was the koala nursery at the San Diego Zoo. And yes, it was exactly as adorable as it sounds. I was also fortunate enough to visit the Los Angeles Zoo many years ago just in time to welcome their baby gorilla, Caesar. You think of gorillas as hulking beasts with angry brows and savage teeth, but they start out like everything else--helpless infants who sleep a lot and need constant care. We filed past the nursery window gazing at the doll-sized and diapered Caesar and I realized that, whatever he would become, he was just a sweet little baby then. I recently saw a picture of the adult Caesar and he was everything terrifying a grown gorilla has to offer, but all I could think of was that sleepy, thumb-sucking baby. In Helen and Clive Dorman’s Okomi The New Baby, a new member of the gorilla crew gets watched over by his big people. That’s all any baby needs.

http://www.amazon.com/Okomi-New-Baby-Helen-Dorman/dp/B000TV9ITO

http://www.dawnpub.com/our-authorsillustrators/helen-clive-dorman/

Bozophobia

You know what scares kids? Well, a lot of things can give kids a fright--Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Halloween masks--but you know what really freaks kids out? Clowns. It’s ironic that the symbol of bigtop fun is toddlerhood’s worst nightmare, but it is. It does make sense though. Small people don’t know that clowns represent cotton candy, balloon animals and tiny cars filled with mime goodness. All they experience is giant red nose, grotesquely creepy overdrawn mouth, wild hair, baggy clothes, and a distinct invasion of their personal space. No wonder they get so upset. When Keilana was a toddler, her paternal grandmother (who was still trying to find her comfort zone as a grandparent) took the three grandchildren she had then to the circus for a special day. The idea was good in theory, but went a bit awry in practice. Apparently, one clown got too friendly for Keilana’s very strict personal boundaries and she lost her ever-loving mind. Fighting your way out of a full circus tent with a preschooler and two bawling two year-olds is not something even the most-seasoned baby wrangler wants to handle, let alone a nervous grandma. Keilana may have been young, but she was old enough to relate the story of her clown horror to anyone who would listen (and even some who didn’t) for months. It took years to recover. In Michael Bond’s Paddington Bear at the Circus, the little guy has a run-in with a clown. That’s the stuff of nightmares.

http://www.amazon.com/Paddington-Bear-Circus-Michael-Bond/dp/0060282134

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Bond

Personality Plus

My daughter had purple hair for awhile. And we’re not talking about a subtle eggplant with highlights designed to catch the sun. Oh, no. I mean Easter egg in overdrive electric lavender. You couldn’t miss her. It sounds a bit odd, I admit, but if any person was meant to have doesn’t-occur-in-nature neon purple hair, it was this girl. She was stunning and unforgettable, then and even now with the color of hair God and genetics gave her. But she still stands out and always has. Part of it is that she is taller than most men she is not related to with arresting blue eyes, but more of it has to do with her actual presence. She seems to bring more to a room than most people, with too much personality for plain, too unique for usual. She leaves the house in get-ups that would get other people laughed off the street, but owns them so completely that it makes the world notice and admire. I have always admired her, too. Well, admiration mixed with a little envy--I’d love to be interesting enough to wear purple hair or fishnets and a cut up bridesmaid’s dress to the Farmer’s Market. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. In Robert Munsch’s Smelly Socks, one little girl with a big personality wants the socks she wears day after day to reflect her authentic self. I’m a crazy socks girl trapped in a plain socks body…but at least I helped Keilana escape the ordinary.

http://www.amazon.com/Smelly-Socks-Robert-Munsch/dp/043964948X

http://robertmunsch.com/

The Magic Touch

Recently, a woman in Australia got the worst news a parent can get: her premature baby just could not survive the birth process and it was time to say goodbye. After having worked on the little guy for twenty minutes in an effort to revive him, the doctors called it hopeless and handed tiny Jamie to his parents. His mother, wanting to spend every precious second she could bonding with this too-soon-gone baby, unwrapped him from his blanket and placed him next to her bare skin. She and her husband began talking to him and telling him all the things they would never have another chance to say when he began making gasping noises. The doctors insisted it was a reflex action not indicative of life, but mothers don’t spend the better part of a year literally physical connected to someone not to get a little extra insight from the powers that be. As Jamie began to show more life, his mother gave him a drop of breast milk from her finger to see what would happen--a purely instinctive action not prompted by any training, just a desperately hopeful mom flying blind. And that miracle baby opened his eyes to get a first look at the mommy who wouldn’t give up on him, even in the face of scientific certainty. In Karen Kingsbury’s Let Me Hold You Longer, a mother reflects back on the rapidly waning childhood of her little boy. For Jamie’s mom, the best is yet to come.

P.S. Check out the story from the link below...but have tissue handy.

http://www.amazon.com/Let-Me-Hold-You-Longer/dp/1414300557

http://www.karenkingsbury.com/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-1306283/Miracle-premature-baby-declared-dead-doctors-revived-mothers-touch.html