Because the truth is, I’d rather write about stuff like this.

Back in February, my daughter Bethany independently and entirely of her own volition started writing the letter B. She’s gone to preschool this year, and her teachers have introduced the letters, but they do not do any writing. For me, this meant some real excitement: she’s figured out how to coordinate the shapes she sees with the motions she makes with her hands, and also that she’s interested in writing.

Obviously, I saved this piece of paper.

When I started this blog, I intended it to be helpful for the teachers I was training, and maybe a way to promote my tiny little consulting business. I already have a very neglected personal blog where I occasionally remember to put up a few pictures and thoughts about what the girls are up to. When I update that blog, my goal is mostly for relatives and close friends to see the girls without me having to print and mail pictures.

As anyone with a brain can see, I haven’t been remotely consistent or interested in using this blog for its intended purpose. It’s not that I lack passion for children’s literature. On the contrary, I love it. The problem seems to be that I enjoy having an actual dialogue with other folks about these books – what to read, how to use them to teach, etc. Just typing into cyberspace isn’t cutting it for me. There are numerous people out there who do this talking about books thing, and they do it awfully well.

What I’d rather type about is what we’re doing here. Figuring out how to be a mom, and help the girls learn, and retain some sense of self, and cook foods that could be labeled something other than “quick ‘n’ easy.” So, today, I’m writing about Bethany making a B, not because I happened upon some magical “how to teach your three year old to write letters” kind of secret, but just because sometimes there is some real serendipity in being a mom.

If you feel like it, keep stopping by, and maybe something cool will happen.

As they get older, I’m relying on books based on songs to keep the music going.  We’ve already noticed that Munchkin #1 will pick a song-based book up and sing her way through it.  She even accompanied herself on a hotel air-conditioner “piano” a few weeks ago.  (Of course, only Nana got to witness this.)  Here are just two of our current favorites:

Ezra Jack Keats did a beautiful rendering of Over in the Meadow,  and we love to sing this together.  The illustrations are calming and peaceful enough to make this exciting song suitable for bedtime.  I particularly love the way Keats included bit and pieces of real plants in his paintings.

If you have two little people at your house, this one will make you smile.  Mara Frazee took the original lyrics to Hush, Little Baby, and illustrated them with a twist. In this version, the baby in the house is finally asleep, but older sister gets a little too vigorous with her cradle rocking. Baby wakes, and the entire family tries everything to get her back to sleep. The illustrations are rooted in the Appalachian tradition of the song, and the end result of this hilarious story is actually quite sweet. The pictures give you plenty to discuss, when you’re done singing the “lullaby.”

I’d never heard of it, but figured it couldn’t hurt to give it a whirl.  It’s now on my short list of hilarious books for preschoolers.  The author/illustrator – Arthur Howard – is more well-known for illustrating Cynthia Rylant’s Mr. Putter and Tabby series.  Truth be told, though, I like this book MUCH better.  It’s a light hearted look at the trials and tribulations of Sydney, a New York City apartment dweller, who is struggling with some difficult upstairs neighbors.  She bares her soul to her downtown cousin Spike, and the problems are solved with quite a bit of wit.  I don’t want to spoil it for you, but it’s genuinely quite funny for children and there are a few bits of wordplay that adults will find kicky, too.

Once I discovered my new BFF Arthur, I found out that our local library also has this on the shelves:

Similarly cheeky to The Hubbub Above, this little gem finds us cheering for a free spirited prince born to very, very serious parents.  Prince Ernest wants to be a jester, much to his parents’ chagrin.  First, though, he finds himself tangled up with a three-headed dragon.  It’s a sweet story, and once again Arthur Howard has found a way to be funny to both kids and adults.  There are a couple of good jokes semi-hidden in the illustrations, too.  While Serious Trouble will never win a Pulitzer, it’s definitely worth your time.

Sometimes I worry that to be taken seriously, modern children’s literature must be dark, depressing, or at least way too somber.  Kids deserve to read well-written funny writing, and both of these are excellent choices to do just that.

Since most of the schools in this part of the world are back in session, and Munchkin #1 went back to preschool this morning, I thought it might be fun to share my two favorite back-to-school books.

First up is Roxaboxen, by Alice McLerran, with illustrations by the indomitable Barbara Cooney. This is the true-ish story of kids in a little Arizona community at the turn of the last century. They carved up a tiny piece of desert into their own town, named Roxaboxen, complete with houses, businesses, and municipal institutions. It’s a great example of what kids can do when left to their own devices, and I’ve never read it to a group of students who didn’t create their own town at recess. (Sadly, school playgrounds don’t allow for the sort of follow-through the kids in Roxaboxen achieved.)  To make it even more fun, the former Roxaboxen location is now a city park, and you can add a piece of your own community to it.  Visit http://www.ci.yuma.az.us/4761.htm to find out more.

Favorite book number two is a class – My Great-Aunt Arizona, by Gloria Houson. The beautiful paintings are by Susan Lamb.  Now, I have to admit that at times this is one of those picture books that adults love more than students.  Overall, though, it’s a great way to help students learn that over the course of time, some things change, and some things stay the same.  My Great-Aunt Arizona tells the story of the real Arizona, who worked hard to become a teacher, and taught for decades in schools that progressed from a one-room building to a modern structure.  You see her rocking a baby to sleep with her foot while teaching, and you learn how students traveled the world based on her encouragement.  It’s a beautiful story about the power of teaching and learning, and I highly recommend you give it a practice read before reading it aloud, or you might be a bit teary.

My mother actually gets the credit for this particular find. She bought Mud, by Mary Lyn Ray, because it reminded her of her childhood in Indiana – waiting on the snow to melt so that it would actually be Spring. Growing up in Georgia, I never really experienced this phenomenon. However, these past few weeks have been a bit wet in Atlanta, and my girls have definitely spent some time in the mud. (Yes, this is also a tribute to our horrible lawn care skills that have resulted in a muddy dirty mess where some folks would have grass.)

The book is more than just a joyful read about the coming of spring. The vocabulary and language are fantastic: “[a] cold sweet smell rises in the ground, like sap in the snow” and “[t]he hills will remember their colors.” Think about what the author is really saying – can you smell the disappearance of snow? Are you smelling the emergence of mud? These are really pretty deep questions, but Mud makes them accessible to preschoolers. Wow. Definitely the sort of book where just talking about it is an engaging and meaningful activity.

Classroom teachers could really get some mileage out of the literary devices in this book, use it to teach onomatopoeia, or even have students work on poems or class stories about weather phenomena inspired by this book. Look at other places in the country – how does spring arrive in different regions of the United States? Or different parts of the world?

So many possibilities! I also need to give some credit to the illustrator. Lauren Stringer has managed to convey a child’s perspective, both in the point of view of the paintings, and in what she chooses to hone in on in each illustration. Why draw muddy footprints on a kitchen floor when you can capture the joy of mud between your toes, instead? The art in this book could convey the idea of point of view beautifully to a primary aged class. Whose perspective are we exploring? The ground’s? The child’s?

Coming up tomorrow: ways to make your own mud without destroying your yard or having a nervous breakdown. Stay tuned!

Of course, a lot of Sendak’s work is a bit quirkier, or darker even, than that. My two favorite Sendak books are Outside Over There and In the Night Kitchen. You’re not going to find a lot of people arguing for the inclusion of either one of those in a preschool curriculum any time soon, yet I remember LOVING them well before I went to school. Maybe my mother has a secret dark side? I remember sitting in her lap, reading Outside Over There and not feeling one whit scared. The book features a kidnapping and baby goblins, for crying out loud! Just image how well-adjusted I might have been.  (I should note that as an adult I do not like scary movies. It may be Maurice Sendak’s fault.)

When I started teaching I accidentally put a copy of In the Night Kitchen in my classroom library before I realized there was a naked little baby within the pages. My students had a field day with that. Fortunately, I wasn’t fired. In fact, no one even went home and told their parents, as far as I know. I thought about creating some clothes for the little guy out of construction paper, but took the coward’s pragmatic course of action and simply removed the book from our classroom library. Yep, I’m a censor. Who knew?

Sendak’s latest, and now last, book The Bumble-Ardy hasn’t made its way into our home yet. I’ll probably have to read it first and decide if it’s a must-buy. In the meantime, my two year old will stick to Little Bear, just to make sure Mr. Sendak and I don’t scar her for life.

Thanks for sharing your gifts with us, Mr. Sendak. You will be missed.