The F-Word

When I used to team-teach a Rhetorical Criticism class at Chico State, the four of us would divide the semester’s lectures up according to our interests and strengths. The course goal was to teach students a variety of techniques for examining communication artifacts and determining their type and impact on human interaction. Given that I was often the only female instructor on the team and that my thesis had been a gender-specific critique, I always opted for teaching the Feminist Criticism lecture. Which was an interesting communication exercise in itself. First, I would get the “huffers”--baseball hat-wearing guys in the back row of the lecture hall who would slam down their pencils and engage in loud, impatient expulsions of air when they heard the day’s topic. Real Renaissance men. And then I would get the bulk of the rest of the class who would vocally object to being called feminists--even though they had already agreed by raise of hands that employment, family planning, and education should be equally shared. The very definition of feminism. I always felt I’d found the real F-word. So, what’s a forward-thinking gal or guy to do? Well, if you’re Robert Munsch and pretty much one of the best children’s authors ever, you write a kick-hiney book about girl power called The Paper Bag Princess. In this story, Elizabeth has a thing for Ronald, but has to get her open-up-a-can on when he is carried off by the dragon. It’s pretty fem-tastic. You should read it.

http://www.amazon.com/Paper-Bag-Princess-Classic-Munsch/dp/0920236162

http://robertmunsch.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/

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 Stuff Of Dreams

Someone told me there’s a law saying that a person cannot be held legally responsible for anything they do in the first thirty seconds after waking, but I’ve never been able to find proof of it. The idea seems loaded with opportunities for abuse--the “Drowsy Defense,” maybe?--but there is something about it that makes sense. How many times have you had that waking instant when you didn’t know where you were? Sometimes even in your own bed. It is an unsettling feeling when you can’t find your bearings right away. It’s also weird to encounter someone who is still very much asleep but their subconscious didn’t get the memo. A few years ago, I woke in the middle of the night to Nick rummaging around in the dresser making an ungodly noise. Annoyed at being roused by such bizarre behavior, I asked him what in the world he was doing. He kept slamming drawers and said, “It’s the way they market the music!” Then I realized I was dealing with a sleeping Beatles fan who’d been reading too much John Lennon biography before bed. I told him we’d work it out and to come back to bed, which he did, but I have reflected many times on how very asleep he was and how that might have manifested itself in other circumstances. In Robert Munsch’s Get Out Of Bed!, Amy has a hard time falling asleep, but when she does nothing can wake her. I wonder how she feels about the Beatles.

http://www.amazon.com/Get-Out-Bed-Robert-Munsch/dp/0439388511

http://www.emints.org/ethemes/resources/S00001772.shtml

My Up, My Down, My Pride And Joy

In “Fiddler on the Roof,” Tevye’s daughters sing about the boy they hope will be their match. When one sister professes an interest in the rabbi’s son, the others scoff. Indignant, she demands to know why this is laughable. Her sister offers, “Because we’ve only got one rabbi, and he’s only got one son.” To which the interested sister replies, “That makes him the best, and why shouldn’t I want the best?” Good question. An even better question is: What is it with only sons? They are the subject of history, myth, legend and lore. Henry VIII killed for one, John the Baptist prophesied one, and most cultures do not consider a man complete without one. What’s up with that? I’ve had four children but only one son, and he’s the one who tried to do me in. Bed rest for weeks, panicked trips to the emergency room, premature labor, and incessant worry. All for nothing, it turns out, since he showed up sixteen years ago today big, fat, and healthy. There is something visceral and therapeutic in having a child of the opposite gender. For the first time, you experience the other in a pure form and the best of you can respond. In no offering is the mother-son relationship more completely and lovingly showcased than the greatest stalker story of all time: Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever. If you’ve read it, you know what I mean. If I could only have one son, I’m glad it was Connor.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Con-Man!

http://www.amazon.com/Love-You-Forever-Robert-Munsch/dp/0920668372

http://robertmunsch.com/

Trendsetter

I have a weakness for cute things. Especially girly cute things. I don’t remember my first exposure to Sanrio’s Hello Kitty, but I know it was love at first sight--not have-Hello Kitty-officiate-at-my-wedding-like-they-do-in-Japan love, but a deep-seated affection nonetheless. In the late ‘70s, when I was eleven, our local strip mall got a kiosk-sized storefront dedicated to things Sanrio. I almost went into diabetic shock from the sweet adorableness of every single thing in the shop. There were pencils, erasers, socks, earrings, keychains, and all manner of other precious wee things in the shape of or patterned with that cute red-bowed feline or her friends. Since I started at nine earning my own money housecleaning and babysitting, I was fortunate enough to make a few select purchases. And my favorite item was a see-through, plastic Hello Kitty purse. I was so excited to take it to school that I didn’t consider what the reaction would be. Here’s how the math went: No one else had a plastic purse, I didn’t get whatever gene makes a person cool enough to pull off starting a trend, and mocking ensued. It actually still stings a little after three decades. But, a year later, one of the girls who did get that elusive popularity gene started carrying a plastic purse and then they were everywhere. I still don’t get it. In Robert Munsch’s Stephanie’s Ponytail, Stephanie has the opposite problem--everyone copies everything she does when she wants to be unique. Maybe our therapists are friends.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanies-Ponytail-Classic-Munsch-Robert/dp/1550374842

http://www.indiana.edu/~reading/ieo/bibs/munsch.html

"M" Is For The Million Things She Gave Me

Families are weird. At least all the ones I am in, have created, or hang around with. Of course, the popular media offerings we get of families don’t really show what most people experience--they either depict sunshine and nurturing or violence and depravity. We don’t see many movies or shows with people who kind of have good stuff much of the time but still have rough edges that peek out pretty regularly. You know, what your family usually looks like. So, the big, complicated messiness that is family makes official days of celebration a spectrum of experiences and emotions. Today is Mother’s Day, one of those aforementioned official days complete with one of those previously mentioned spectrums. It should be easy, right? Everyone is here because a woman became, again or for the first time, a mother. That’s simple enough, but everything after that moment is part of the package, too. The mother-child relationship is the most fundamental of all relationships. Nothing can replace a healthy bond and nothing can compensate for a troubled one. Even if you are fortunate to have a really lovely one, it is still a lifelong push and pull for establishing the right balance of independence and connection. Given all this, it seemed too perilous to choose a mom book for today. But, a book about how weird families are is perfect. Robert Munsch’s Good Families Don’t tackles the expectations and realities of families. Although it’s a Canadian family, so the rules might be different.

P.S. Happy Mother's Day to all who care for others.

http://robertmunsch.com/

http://www.amazon.com/Good-Families-Dont-Robert-Munsch/dp/0440405653

Hindsight

Having small people who still wear diapers is a bummer--buying diapers, running out of diapers, regretting leaving the bag open so the wipes dry out, stinking up the house, adding to the landfills or using water for washing, and longing for the day diapers are done. The problem with potty training (once it’s done, of course) is realizing you didn’t appreciate the convenience of diapers when you had the chance. Anyone who has ever gone anywhere with a newly toilet-trained small person knows that needing to pee, being willing to pee, and having the opportunity to pee are rarely all in the same place at the same time. I had one who never met a public bathroom she didn’t want to visit. I had one who held dry pants hostage by “forgetting” to go pee-pee in the potty chair if she wanted something she didn’t get. I had one whose “Wolverine” costume had to turn into a flannel shirt and jeans “Logan” costume when he (that narrows it down, doesn’t it?) didn’t quite make it in time. I also threw perfectly good panties away on a trip to Disneyland because I wasn’t willing to swish them in the Happiest Toilet On Earth. And now I have one who wears her princessy pink potty-chair on her head. Sometimes diapers look really nice in hindsight. In Robert Munsch’s I Have To Go!, Andrew makes everyone crazy until he and Grandpa figure the potty thing out. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

http://www.amazon.com/I-Have-Go-Classic-Munsch/dp/0920303749

http://robertmunsch.com/