A real princess is hard to find (JE # 15)

I've been hanging on to the Rachel Isadora version of Princess and the Pea ever since I saw the fairytale included in the Stinky Cheese Man collection. Adam hadn't ever been introduced to this tale, and I was curious to see how he responded to all the Stinky Cheese stories after reading first the "real" versions.

Unconnected to this--for the most part--we visited the library today and picked up The Tale of Despereaux, a book I hadn't realized until after we put it on hold is written by the same author who gives us Edward Tulane. At checkout the librarian reminded us, "There won't be any renewals on this book as the waiting list for it is a mile long!" Later I happened to read through the inside front cover description and saw: "This is the story of Despereaux Tilling, a mouse in love with music, stories and a princess named Pea." I knew then I had to read the Isadora book to him so I could get started with Despereaux. I am so curious to see his response to this princess's name. It's so funny how books come to us, what links one to another, and the connections between them that we do recall.

When I recall the story, I of course remember Hans Christian Andersen's Scandinavian locale, as opposed to this African one. But, really, is the earlier one any more "real" because it came first? Determining which one is more real perhaps is as difficult as finding a real princess. In this story, probably closer to any one most African parents might tell their children, the princess is bruised and made uncomfortable by a pea buried deep beneath dozens of mattresses and feather beds decorated by typically vibrant and expressive African colors and patterns. (Adam said they came from animals, such as the one that had spots like a cheetah, or another lines like a zebra.)

This comes, of course, after the prince had searched the world over for a true princess, someone so delicate, so sensitive. He meets many who claim to be princesses, but none seem quite right. Each one says "Hello" to him in a different tribal language, and Isadora provides the translations for us: "Selam" (Amharic), "Iska Waran" (Somali) and "Jambo, Habari" (Swahili). Interestingly, the author places the translations at the end of the book, a bit of an unfortunate choice in my opinion, but remedied by Adam's understanding of Swahili.

"Why, Adam, do you speak Swahili, dear boy? I say!"

"Nooooooo. I just remember it because Diego went to Africa once and they said it on that show."

And indeed it is so. Diego, animal rescuer cousin to Dora has travelled to Africa and the more I thought about it, the greater recall I had of the way they sang the words. Connections.

I've ordered another version from the library, but what occurred to me as I type is that for Adam, since this is his first exposure to the fairy tale, this may very well be the "real" story.

Everywhere the action's at (JE # 9)

Lately Adam is heavily into an old Saturday morning cartoon, Josie and the Pussycats. It started with a book he found at the library, set up in comic book form and probably attractive to him for the colorful pages set up in boxes--a scheme he'd never really seen much of before. Although I was somewhat surprised at first, it grew on me for a couple of reasons, one related to immersion into unconventional mixing of genre and content. During my undergraduate studies we read Maus, an autobiographical work dealing with a young man's struggle to work through his father's nightmarish memories as a Holocaust survivor. The book had been the recipient of some criticism because it was in comic book form and some were offended by the combination of such serious subject matter and its "funnies" backdrop. It re-opened a larger debate about the appropriateness of such an arrangement.

Josie and the Pussycats is hardly Maus; the two are in no way even comparable. But I thought it might be interesting for Adam to read a book in this style that is not necessarily all gags and jokes. The stories in it are not serious, but they do include a pair of siblings who frequently quarrel, one of whom is endlessly trying to gain the attention of Allan, who likes Josie. Alexandra, the jealous sister of Alexander, often does rather mean things to Josie, not unlike Angelica, discussed below, who also presents a new sort of paradigm to challenge. Both are characters who take us rather by surprise, not unlike the way some people in real life might. Alexandra insults Josie's clothes, calls her a "stupid redhead," and frequently puts down her girl group, talking about how it would not ever be successful until she, Alexandra, led it and the band were named after herself. There also are plots involving physical threats to the characters, who frequently encounter dangerous criminals. For a child learning to deal with these types of situations, comic-book format opens up a new way in which to approach handling them, learning to look at them in a different type of way.

Moreover, given the emphasis now being placed in schools on visual literacy, it struck me as helpful that Adam chose to expose himself to this format, not just for developing a base from which to form an awareness of literary matters, but also for the conventions he would be learning. We talked about the differences between stanza and paragraph, episode and chapter, and tonight we finally passed the ordinary bubble that pointed to someone's head--indicating they were saying those words--and the bubble with smaller bubbles beneath it--a character's thoughts--and came upon the print version of "voice over." I explained to Adam that this was neither spoken nor thought by characters, rather it was information for readers to allow them to understand how the story was developing. (In the past I had said, "It is a narrator telling us what is happening, someone who is removed from the story." He seemed to grasp this, although I would want to follow up on this understanding.) In this case, it gave the readers, us, to understand that Alexander, by snapping his fingers, had unwittingly broken a spell the jealous Alexandra had placed on the Pussycats.

As the storyline originated as a children's cartoon in the 60s, there is also a DVD The Best of Josie and the Pussycats, each episode of which starts with the theme song. Although I prefer to limit Adam's access to television watching, there can be benefits. One, for example, is the musical element. Music in the life of a child not only is enjoyable, but seems also to have an emotional appeal that is hard to match. For fun I've included a clip of the show's opener, with various scenes and theme song. Come on along!



Josie and the Pussycats, long tails, and ears for hats
Guitars and sharps and flats
Neat, sweet, a groovy song
You're invited, come along

Hurry, hurry!

See ya all in Persia, or maybe France
We could be in India, or perchance
Be with us in Bangkok, make no difference
Everywhere the action's at, we're involved with this or that

Come on along now!

Josie and the Pussycats, no time for purrs and pats
Won't run when they hear scat
There where the plot begins
Come and watch the good guys win

Josie and the Pussycats
Josie and the Pussycats




And he's big time into holidays. This past Valentine's Day was pretty special for him--any excuse for a party, really. He typically loves to bake, make, buy and create things for people, and this time was no exception. He passed out Valentine's cards for his classmates at school and surprised me by not wanting to take his treasures with him to school. One of them was his themed book: Rugrats: Be My Valentine! It's probably more entertainment than anything, but we still manage to get lots of interesting comments from it, such as standards and transitions in life like growing up and moving out of parents' homes--

"Oh so these, they like, had a fight but they're still brothers."

"Well, I don't know that they had a fight."

"Maybe they moved away 'coz they had a fight, but they're still friends, now they're friends but he married someone else, so he got her, this after they had the fight, they moved away, they married, and they married, she married two times, first they got Tommy, then Dil, and then..."

"Honey, they only lived together when they were little boys. When they grew up they moved out from their parents' house to their own houses."

"Then why did they decide to...ohhhh, I get it, they didn't have a fight, they just wanted their own house. First they look for a wife, and then they decided for a house!"

--and the relationships that make people cousins, and societal celebrations and their origins.

We also get to use the word "butt."

"How come we're eating cookies that look like our butts?" Phil asked. He held his heart cookie upside down.

Tommy and brother Dylan "Dil" Pickles are cousins to Angelica Pickles, and their fathers are brothers. Tommy is sweet, Dil erratic and Angelica, who often steals cookies, mean. In one passage Angelica shoots toy arrows into their midst so as to distract them long enough to steal cookies. Adam understood that each thing happened, but not that each had a singular goal within the story. Having come after Angelica was seen prancing around dressed as Cupid, and later demanding to know if those were cookie crumbs on the floor, the scene with Angelica's trickery was a bit confusing for him at first. I tried scaffolding so Abdul could realize the purpose of those scenes, to build onto his understanding of how pictures tell important details as well as words. I pointed to the babies, whose eyes were all focused in astonishment on the arrow at their feet while, in the background, Angelica sneaks away with a plate of cookies. Listening to the tape was heartwarming in a comedic way.

"What do you think is happening in this picture?"

"They found that from Stu, but it was really from Angelica. She's dancing around, that she found..."

"What's that in her hand?"

"...cookies."

"So somebody just shot an arrow, who do you think did that?"

He points to Angelica.

"Angelica...Why do you think she did that?" His lips are closed again the concentrated way they do, but he is not sad this time, as he was over the fate of Edward Tulane.

"'Coz she didn't mean to but it accidentally went to Stu."

"Well, look at this. If she shot the arrow, and look at all those babies are looking at the arrow. Are they looking at her with the cookies?"

Head shake.

"So what do you think now?"

"She just shot it...?"

"So that they'll watch the arrow and she can sneak away with the cookies maybe."

"Ahhhh," he cries out, smiling, as his focus gives way to understanding. "That was a good trick!" We laughed together and hearing it again on the tape brings joy to my heart. A discovery we shared, and the way our laughter joins on the tape is sort of like the way our hands meet at a crossing, without having to say anything.

"But it wasn't cool." Adam is, after all, a very kind child, many times unusually so. It occurs to me at that moment that he often shows other children things he has recently learned, and I wonder if this episode will join his repertoire. He likes to share. My eyes gleamed as I watched him.

"Yeah, we were laughing but in real life that would be kind of mean."

"It's so dang...bad." I laughed at the way his words had gotten progressively bolded, as if his voice conveyed a font, and one could hear the letters growing on the page, until...they suddenly revert to the ordinary. He was, all in good fun, laughing at my expense, poking fun at my sentimentality and how he was able to exploit it. And that just elevated the happiness within me, for a child's capability to use humor to enable someone to laugh at themself. And my heart sang as it always does at the sound of children's laughter.

The best kind of Valentine's Day present.

Falling in love, part II (JE # 8)

Adam held Julie, his tiger soft toy, as we started to read more in Edward Tulane. At this point I probably should mention that Julie got her name from a real-life tiger who, along with her brother Ron, made the journey from Canadian zoo to South African sanctuary where, it was hoped, they could be taught how to behave like wild animals, make a home on the continent--where tigers are not--and be the start of a long line of an African species who could help "restock" Asian tiger territory.

Julie the Second had come from the Anchorage Zoo on the same day Adam and I accompanied his pre-school class on a field trip to see the newly-arrived tigers there. From that day early last summer until now, Julie has held a very special place in Adam's heart, much as Edward Tulane does for Abilene. Adam is somewhat of a Build-a-Bear aficionado, and he often uses the clothes and accessories meant for Ariel, his pink leopard, to share with the smaller Julie. When he started kindergarten this year, Julie accompanied him for the first few days, and at night she occupies the area just below his chin and in between his arms.

And in his arms she rested as we prepared to settle back into our previous-night's reading, having just made our way through Circle Time and a book exploration. As the Tulanes prepared for their shipboard journey and Pellegrina stared at Edward, I thought about
how Julie, unlike Edward, loved nothing more than to be held close and even tight, and didn't seem to mind if her clothing became wrinkly. "Well," I thought as I turned the page, "different personalities."

As the shipboard journey gets underway, Edward's misfortune approaches in the form of Amos and Martin, who speak condescendingly to Abiline. "Edward, as usual, was disregarding the conversation."

"What do you think it means to disregard?"

"Not really listening," Violet offered. I asked Adam what he thought.

"Um, 'not guarding.'" I was rather pleased with this answer for a couple of different reasons. First, he didn't merely copy Violet's answer as many children (Adam included) do in some instances. He had the courage--and dramatic as it may sound I do believe it takes a certain amount of courage to proffer a different answer, especially if the first child tends to be perceived, as Violet often is by Adam, to be more clever--he had the courage to say something different when he could easily have saved face by repeating his friend's answer.

I also knew exactly why he answered as he did. We'd been playing with words all his life, and about a year ago I started talking to him about Greek and Latin roots. I've confined it to simple prefixes and suffixes, such as un and less. "What does it mean to be penniless" I would ask; he would answer, in the beginning after haven given it much thought, "You have no pennies!" Unhappy he understood to mean "not happy." Over time he'd been more informally exposed to lots of other word parts and I tried to point out the root meanings as they came up.

So when he defined disregard to mean "not guarding," I was rather impressed, although it did take me by pleasant surprise. Listening to myself on the tape I thought the jaw dropping was practically audible. He was not blurting out answers, rather he was taking the time to think through what was being discussed, and at this stage, for him at least, I thought this was much more important than the right answer.

"You are on the right track! Both of you are so clever! To regard means to 'pay attention,' but to disregard means to..."

"Not pay attention," they chimed.

"I thought it was guard like when someone does...I wasn't on the right track," Adam said, somewhat unhappily.

"You were actually," I assured him, simultaneously remembering those post-modern novels with word play involving spellings and meta-cognition. "You were using your thinking cap, you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I know that you were thinking about the beginning of the word, dis, and I know that you were breaking down the word and thinking what each part means." I hoped he heard the smile in my words as well as saw it on my face.

"Yeah and there was the guard part."

"Yeah! There you go!"

I loved some of the words that followed: billowed, dashing ("He's thinking to himself, 'I look quite good,'" I said in an affected voice), mortified. We talked about people who too often think very highly of themselves and how the pocket watch rolled toward Abilene.

"But, but it was vacuumed up!" Adam was really showing his prowess today with remembering other details, even if he had forgotten that it had been rescued from the new maid's negligence. But if he felt at all awkward it was relieved by articulation of the word underwear, an utterance I've learned is hilariously scandalous to the kindergarten-first grade set. The children laughed uproariously.

They quietened down when Edward's mortification arrived, but only momentarily.

Edward was paying attention now. He was mortified.

"Awwwwwwweeeeesommme, underwear!" Adam crowed.

"Did his butt show?" Violet wanted to know.

"Probably, he's completely naked."

"Eeeeeewwwwwwww!" the pair of them cried out.

I tried to get back on track by joining in on their act. "'Give him to me!' screamed Abilene. 'He's mine.'" I semi-shouted out the words. The rabbit sailed, naked, through the air as Abilene protested his shameless treatment, tackling one boy as he tried to make a pass to the other.

So it was that Edward Tulane did not go flying back into the dirty hands of Martin. Instead...

"What do you think happened?"

"He broke," Adam said sadly.

Violet agreed. "He broke."

We talked a little bit about techniques of using what one has read so far, including pictures and the title, to provide hints as to what they think might happen. I added in a bit about central characters and their importance to the story; since Edward Tulane's name was in the title...

Instead, Edward Tulane went overboard.

"Into the water?"

Adam let out a wail. "Aaaahhhhh, I'm heartbroken!" He was only partly play acting. "Oh noooooo," he cried softly as Edward began to sink.

And so we made our way through Edward's disaster and Adam's vow, "I'm going to find him!" along with his indignant reply, "He's not a toy!" when the fisherman referred to Edward in this way.

"They think he's just a bunny rabbit," Violet explained.

*********

I am actually typing this about a week or so after the reading took place (and a day after the above segment), and went to get the book to make reference to the next section I was planning to type about. When Adam saw it he made a soft purring sound, the kind of sound a child makes when he cuddles something he loves or cares about. As I continue to type he is flipping through, looking at the pictures, making note of where we left off. Our bookmark actually had gotten replaced into the wrong spot, although I'm not sure if he knows this.

He turns to the picture of Rosie carelessly flipping Edward around in the Tulanes' dining room.

"There's the pee. The mommy should be more upset at what the dog did to him," he said in a low voice, pointing to the limp form of Edward Tulane, "because that's her child['s]."

Then he turns slowly, carefully, thoughtfully. His mouth is closed, he is unsmiling, concentrating.

"He's hiding." Edward is sitting, seemingly forgotten, on a shelf in the doll shop, and Adam is sad.

Then he closes the book and points to the cover.

"He's walking," he says in a whisper. "Because the house of the outside, and a bush right there and the sky and a road." I've read the part of the book in which this scene takes place, but Adam has not, and I am so curious as to what he will say when he gets to that part, given the way his emotions have responded thus far.

Flipping through the book, Adam appears to be looking for something. "This is where we left off." Perched on a post is a crow, the sort that, unbeknown to Adam and Edward both, soon will be cackling at the abused rabbit, who would be trying to talk himself out of the depths of despair by remembering, "I have been loved."

Adam hasn't yet articulated any sort of horrific or happy ending for Edward Tulane, at least not that I recall. This, of course, is why teachers record things--we haven't the memories of children, who know what they know, even when they can't remember it.

"And then his heart talked and it said the names of the stars. Because he really did say the names in his heart." Of course. He must be looking for the part when the rabbit spent time on Lawrence's shoulders, gazing at the stars. But in there also is another memory, I suspect, perhaps the one that even echoes in my own heart. I think this because he is examining the colored picture of Pelligrina reading to Abilene, and I recall that somewhere in this time, Edward had lain in his bed looking at the stars, repeating to himself, as bright as the stars on a moonless night, words that had brought him comfort. Does Adam remember this? He is feeling sad for the rabbit, and I wonder if on some level he turns to this page because he remembers the repetition and how it had made Edward feel comforted, something he so desperately needs now.

"Can you read this part to me, please? Then I will tell you if I remember it. The stars." I read a few lines from the page before chapter twenty three, but he falls into disinterest. It is not the section with the stars. He explains that Edward had lain on his back said the names of the stars in his heart, to console himself.

"Big Dipper, Milky Way, Northern Star." He has positioned himself on his back, on my bed, and I am impressed with his memory. He had asked about the stars several times when we'd been driving. I recall this and wonder how often he thinks of Edward Tulane; it's been awhile since we read it.



"Maybe there's a wolf round that corner," he ventures, pointing to the cover again, drawing Julie close. Wolves exist in Adam's shadow world, the world that exists for all children, I suppose, where scary things lurk. "If he's not real, then why is he walking?"

And my heart melts because in my memory I carry also images and words of his from another discussion we had following the last time we read about Edward. The tape had been full and I hadn't made the blog entries for them yet, so I tried to type as fast as I could after leaving Adam to his sleep. We must have read the part when Edward is kicked from the train; I don't recall all the details, but I do know that after Lucy's howl, I had told him this is what dogs do when they are grieving. And strangely enough I remember my mother, when I was very, very young, telling a friend that she knew So and So (who had been ill) had died during the night, because the woman's dog kept up the same sort of howling until morning. In the passages of my mind her words are almost whispers, to denote their mysterious or even hallowed nature. She often discussed things such as the psyches of dogs and personalities of angels, and now, watching my own child, I wondered what whispers are in his mind. I have this memory from my mother's conversation; how will he remember this book? Domestic dogs are also part of his shadow world, and the way he repeatedly returns to Rosie fascinates me. He fears him, he is upset with him for what he has done to Edward, but seems intrigued by him as well. I was to wonder later, does he want to the dog do be good? Is he trying in his imagination to eliminate his own fears?

And then someone must have commented on Edward's non-status, or referred to him as a toy, and we mentioned it in our post-reading conversation, because Adam had then insisted, "He’s REAL." His voice a combination of indignation and mournfulness, and I can still recall the way it then wavered as he spoke.

"The dog will take him and say ruff ruff and, 'Is this your house?' and Edward will say from his heart, 'Yes’."

"He is walking back to a house on the cover….he is going back to the house where the one was that had him first."

His voice trailed off there, and the ellipses in his voice, with the subsequent silence, marked the words perfectly.

Swimming in a sea of books (JE # 7)

Last weekend, the day after I read Edward Tulane to Adam and Violet, we gathered in the living room--we being the two children, myself and the rest of the "class": a gaggle of soft toys propped up in an arc around where I was sitting, Circle Time style.

I'd spread a few books out for them to explore, wondering what kinds of responses there would be when presented with more than one book. I also thought it might be a bit different, when recording experiences, to reading to them and might give me some insight into kids and books.

Both children like to read, and although I don't really know much about Violet's reading style or habits at home, I know her mother does indeed read to Violet, who enjoys the Fancy Nancy series. There has never been a time when I've offered to read to the pair of them that Violet has ever indicated disinterest, and at bedtime (at sleepovers) she often asks me to read to them.

This time the two children flipped through the books and giggled periodically after Violet asked, "Is this like station rotation with books?" Adam occasionally picked up his small tiger, Julie, and a little water baby doll, who has had several names, currently Baby, to show each a picture. I wondered if he were indicating based on their interests, since he showed different pictures to different friends. For himself, he tended to focus on Math Curse and All in Just One Cookie. We had received the latter in the mail just the day before and he'd spent nearly an hour repeating the title with different pronunciations ("All in. Just. One. Cookayyyy!") or different voices.

Violet, a first grader who knows how to read-and sometimes reads to Adam--asked me to read the title of a book she indicated.

"The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales," I said with a stress as if I were reading it for the very first time.

Both children howled with laughter. When I listened later to the tape, Adam's deep belly laugh in of itself made me giggle. There really is nothing like children's laughter.

They repeated the name over and over again, seemingly delighting in the ability to say stupid uncensored, and I remembered reading in the text about objectionable phrases and varying responses depending on families' perspectives, values, etc. I asked them what they thought of the title.

Was it funny to say the word stupid?

"Yeah, but we couldn't say it in class," Violet said in a warning voice.

"Well," Adam chimed in, "only when you're just reading it."

Do you think there are some times when you might be able to say the word stupid?”

“Yeah."

"What might be one of those times?"

“Stupid Tales.” Violet wanted to get back into the conversation.

"When you’re reading the title of a book?"

“Yeah."

“What if the word stupid is in a book?”

“Um...”

“Would you be able to say it out loud?”

“Hey this isn’t a stupid tale!”

“What if you were reading a book to us and someone, a character in the book, said, "You are so stupid." Would you stop or would you keep reading to us? Would you read those words out loud?”

"Keep reading,” called out the children in unison.

The children, while not exactly bored with this conversation, didn't seem to find it unusual. It wasn't really one that piqued their interest and Violet began commenting on some pictures she'd seen, flipping through a book as we chatted. "Oh my god, he's in his normal clothes!"

"All in Just One Cookie!" cried Adam.

"He's like, 'Whatever.'" (She might have been looking at Terrific. I had been somewhat swept away by our text's many recommen-
dations and made a trip to the library.)

"They're trying to build a cookie. They're trying to cook it."

Violet was thumbing through Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich and we talked briefly about how many people think Frankenstein is the monster, when actually his creator is called Dr. Frankenstein. She pointed to a picture of a barber: "Is that Dr. Frankenstein?"

After this the children flipped through other books and Adam ran to get a library choice of his own, Josie and the Pussycats. I don't know what attracted him to it, but perhaps the comic-book style. I pointed out to the children the differences between the words in this books and those in All in Just One Cookie. I had previously explained the bubbles to Adam, and this time he repeated the words in Cookie as they appeared over a map. (He loves maps.) I asked him what he thinks it mans to see "chocolate" with a line pointing towards one place, and "eggs" with a line pointing to another, and so on.

"It's telling you where you can find the stuff."

After another brief sentence about boxes with words in them compared to bubbles with words, we talked again about the difference in what it means and also how it appears. This time I let the children do the explaining. They would both be good teachers of this stuff, I recall thinking.

Since they had two books open I chose the moment also to talk about pictures and differences, such as faces being rounded in one book, elongated in another. Style. "Different but both nice," Violet added.

Teachers.

A mile in someone else's skates (JE # 6)

Did I say Adam did not see Otis as a sympathetic character?

He couldn't figure out if Mrs. Spofford is aware of the hair-cutting incident--when Otis cut the hair of a girl who'd ripped buttons off his shirt, exposing his accidentally-dyed-pink-in-the-wash undershirt. He concedes it was wrong for Otis to do this, but the button ripping, that was not OK.

Last we read, Otis was on his way to Saturday skating and when he gets there he begins to realize, as did Adam as we read, that this time the kids are simply not happy with him. They avoid him, point and talk secretively, laugh at his misfortunes on the ice and generally seem pleased when Ellen and Austine make off with his boots, leaving him no choice but to chase after them in his ice skates. Even the other boys, Otis is dismayed to learn, conspire with the girls to keep Otis bootless. When he finally catches up he is breathless and achy, his feet in absolute agony.

It was the second trick Ellen had played on Otis. In class, the day he had cut a thick lock of her hair off, she had reminded Otis and their peers of his pink undershirt disgrace by calling him "Big Chief Pink Underwear." He'd demanded she retract it, she did, and then revealed she had "kings"--she had been crossing her fingers behind her back, the signal that means the person is not speaking the truth or will not keep a promise.

And now here she was at it again. He admits to himself it was a good joke, and she'd gotten even, but still...

Adam looked back over the pictures of a dejected Otis watching with resignation as the girls scramble away with his footwear; being left behind by the boys as they went for hot dogs without him; as he walks from the bus stop to his home, blades digging simultaneously into his feet as well as the cement. He pointed to the picture of Otis walking in ice skates and drew to my attention that there appeared to be sparks coming up from the ground each time his foot struck.

While I am no artist, I suppose it is fair to say these are rather simple pictures, yet they convey quite a lot and Adam wasn't missing much. He commented on Otis's puffed out, annoyed cheeks, his slumped back, that he looked...hurt.

"Perhaps," I commented, "this is the 'come-uppance' Mrs. Gitler referred to earlier."

As is often the case, things often don't work out exactly as one thinks they might, and Adam's pity for the wayward Otis soon turned to a sort of delight when Ellen and Austine approach him. Otis, whose apology Ellen had rejected, sat on the steps of his apartment building, aching but now relieved that he may get his boots back.

The girls force Otis to promise he will stop teasing Ellen. "And cross your heart and hope to die and stew and fry," repeated Austone firmly. Adam was almost bursting with excitement, partly because he knew something was going to happen, as the book was over in one page, partly because he didn't know what it was. But he seemed to be aware the book would end wth a bit of a bang. "It had to," as he said later, when we discussed the ending.

I'd tried to hide the last illustration as it gave away what happened, but when he saw it, he gave out a whoop as if he'd scored a precious victory. And I suppose he did.

Brown paper packages tied up in strings...

When I was a little girl, my mother and I were in the habit of going for walks. There was something poetic about these walks, partly because we talked a great deal about the natural world set out all around us: what we could see and what lay buried beneath the cold winter's snow. But also, as we walked through the sometimes terrifically cold and windy evenings--I recall our winter walks the best--we spoke silly rhymes and recited poetry, even if it were only a few lines from each poem we wanted to talk about.

In moments like these I suspect my mother was a lover of words and, had she been born later, may have had opportunity to develop her fascination, but for then we roamed the streets and fields, calling out the name of the first thing we set our eyes on after we opened them, then trying to come up with words to rhyme. Sometimes these would be phrases, nonsense ones even, or sentences that we took turns stringing together, spinning a yarn in verse.

On one particular evening we were probably about 15 minutes from home when we decided to go back. It was especially cold and the wind had picked up. She told me of a time when all the snow from the park we were just then passing had blown in a drift to the line of houses across the street from the front most area of the park, completely closing off the entrances. That memory of hers seemed to make the cold colder, the wind nippier, my desire to hold my coat closer to me, stronger. We took out a package of soft chocolates and, as was our wont, passed to each other one. They were medicinal, created for our long and arduous outings, made to gives us strength against the arctic chill. And we sang words to give us the strength to make it back to camp.

It was cold
And bold
The night not yet old
In the fold
'til untold
were my rolds
to help me hold
from the cold...

She seemed satisfied when I laughed my childlike laugh and acknowledged the "not-quite" rhyme in there. I'd always assumed she knew the words that were meant to be represented, but I also know now what she was looking for. She understood something about the connection between the way we use words, what we know about them and our cognitive abilities later. As a talented nurse she was an authority on health, but unschooled in language arts. Later I wondered what she'd learned in nursing school about brain development and how much of it she carried with her. She read a lot of journals, but generally to do with psychiatry, and was a fan of Edgar Allen Poe, so all things considered, she did have a pretty strong lay base. But I believe she also had an instinct.

Years later, having read that walking during pregnancy helps speed up delivery, I now have wound up with a child of my own who loves words and walking as much as my mother and I both did. In fact, he recognized the alliteration of that very word pair when he declared his love for the two. I explained to him what it is called and he tipped his head, as if trying to remember, then gave it a single shake as if to dismiss the effort, for he could not. At least not from this time. We went on to discuss stories from our respective childhoods.

"When you were a baby, I used to sing silly songs to you, made up as I went along but to the tune of other songs."

"What are they?"

"You remember one of them--it has lasted all this time." Together we sang.

I love the way that my baby boy smiles
For him I'd walk over one hundred miles.
I could go out in the fields and then bring
all of the sunshine right back in for him.

When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
and then I don't feel so bad.

Falling in love, part I (JE # 5)

A few days ago I finally got the opportunity to read to Adam with another child present. His friend, Violet, was sleeping over and although we'd started to read The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane a night or two before, we hadn't gotten very far and he wanted Violet to hear the story from the beginning. So as Adam snuggled in his bed, Rose in the "bed for a friend," as my mother had called it when we picked out the set, we began. Adam, who for as long as I can remember has been terrified of dogs, spoke up immediately about his desire to see the picture of poor Edward being manhandled by the neighbors' dog.


"Mommy, can we see a quick picture of when the dog was biting?" I'm always amazed at his fascination with dogs given his fear of them, and this scenario seems to me the perfect example of how reading can so capture a child's attention that even something he or she fears the most can be safely approached for closer examination. And looking at pictures, of course, is part of reading the story as well. Children see pictures in ways we grownups do not, and they take away from them as well.

As the children discussed this particular scene, Adam pointed out the dog's urine stain on the tablecloth and explained to Violet that, "He's made out of plate so if you drop him, he'll break." he was concerned the dog would be too rough with Edward. He demonstrated with soft-toy Barney how Abilene held Edward in her lap when they discussed the upcoming journey on the Queen Mary. And Violet commented that, "If you like yourself too much, maybe you won't be so nice to other people." The children were exploring the personality of Edward the toy rabbit, who thought many things but couldn't speak because, as Violet said, "He wasn't real."

Adam, who has a tendency to become very excited when he is read to--he especially loves it when other children are there, and often is so proud of his books--and on this night he had a very difficult time keeping still. When the new maid zealously shook and cleaned Edward with a brutal swooshssppptt of the vacuum he cried out at the outrage: "That's a child's! That's the mother's child's!!" Finally he started to settle down, but asked questions and made running commentary--as he is wont to do--in an excessive manner. I was a bit lucky at this moment because as I read the end of chapter three, I used Pellegrina's words to talk to him as well: "'You must listen...It is all in the story.'"

And indeed they started to settle down further. Perhaps they were growing more tired. Violet had at one point laid her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. But now they both were listening and at the words, "'Once there was a princess...'" I could almost see the method of listening switch from one to another in their eyes and in the countenance of each. These were words came from fairy tale territory. And of course, a witch! A witch who turned the very beautiful princess into a...warthog? As the children had been doing with words earlier to decipher meanings, they now drew on associations, their schema, to make sense of such a choice and to grasp what was happening. Adam, with a bit of scaffolding, was able to remind Violet that Pumbaa in The Lion King is a warthog, to which Violet responded, "Pffttt. They are fat and sweaty!"

Portrait of a princess, a very beautiful princess

Violet knows what she likes. Or doesn't, as the case may be. The children reflected on what the princess had done--and not done, loved--to bring her to her terrible circumstances. But somehow they seemed to know it was too late for the princess, as they remembered how Pellegrina looked t Edward as she talked, as she said certain words, and I talked with them about how one might recognize words of consequence when someone is reading a book to them. The way a voice drops, when certain words are stressed, or when a dramatic pause increases the anticipation of wondering what will happen next. "What do you think the king's men will do when they see the princess?"

"They tried to shoot at it!" Violet cried.

And when I whispered, "You disappoint me," the children knew there was something there, but needed a bit of help.

"Who else said that to somebody?"

"The witch," Violet said quietly, but with assurance. She knew something was afoot.

"Said that to who?"

"The princess."

"I know what's gonna happen," Adam jumped in. "The witch might turn into a ghost and slide on [unintelligible] that, before where she said, and they'll marry." He extended his last word to indicate duplicity, or perhaps intrigue. As silly as what he said may sound to some, or as off the mark as he is, he actually was engaging his schema here, recalling the formula for other stories with princesses, and combining fright factors: ghosts, after all, are supposed to be scary, as is the witch. He accepted that it wouldn't happen, not because of its unlikelihood, but because, as he was reminded, the princess loved nobody.

"Who else in the story loves nobody?"

"The grandmother!" Violet was getting ahead of herself. "She's the witch!"

Perhaps because Violet had named the witch, Adam agreed, and Violet followed up with: "That's why she said it! 'Cause the witch said it to the princess!"

"Yessss, and she [the grandmother] leans over to Edward and says, 'You disappoint me.'" I whispered the last words.

Both children drew in their breath.

As Edward lays in his bed wondering why the old lady had told such a useless story, Adam protested, "But she loves him!"

We chatted a bit about what Edward was thinking as he lay there chanting the words over and over, and Adam sighed.

"Edward will soon learn something and stare at the grandmother and she might die and then he'll soon learn that it's concerned to love people."

What Edward saw...
"...as bright as the stars on a moonless night, as bright as the stars on a moonless night..."

What you need to open a detective agency

Money, of course. But also: compassion; intuition; friends to help you get things like typewriters; a good supply of red bush tea; a place to set up shop; and a vehicle.

Precious Ramotswe has inherited money from her late Daddy and with it purchased the building to set her agency, a corner plot on Zebra Drive and a tiny white van to get her around. Proudly being a lady of traditional build, Mma Ramotswe sometimes worries about the stress on it; nevertheless the loyal automobile carries her across the pages and through readers' minds as she makes her way round Gaborone, up and down the Molepolole Road, to Francistown and to and fro each day at the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency on Kgale Hill on the edge of the largest city in Botswana.

Alexander McCall Smith's The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency is somewhat misleading in that it reads with ease, but is filled with the details of a complex society rich with the nuances and understanding of a bustling economy grown from towns named after tribal chiefs, a cast of characters as varied as in any large and historical city, and mysteries that bubble under the surface. Mma Ramotswe is hired to "track down a missing husband, uncover a con man, and follow a wayward daughter. But the case that tugs at her heart, and lands her in danger, is that of a missing eleven-year-old boy, who may have been snatched by witch doctors" (from back cover).

Mma Ramotswe captured my heart because she is honest and caring, though not easily duped; she sees through so many situations, but remains patient enough to reserve assessment; and she values the traditions and ways of her culture whilst placing value in the future. Throughout The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency readers develop a greater understanding and awareness of Botswana culture, societal habits (even including such elements as particular gesticulations), history and its major players and even its Achilles heel, the AIDS epidemic, discussed in tactfully delicate tones so as to offset the idea of a one-paradigm Africa whilst simultaneously maintaining respect for the realities in the lives of the many people affected by the disease. What brings all this together for me is the sheer ordinariness of it all: I have always been someone intrigued and interested in different cultures, but above all I want to know what the "regular" people do. What kind of toothpaste do they use? What are their shopping habits? What insights could I get from glimpses into decorating styles of their homes, inside and out? Smith satisfies these curiosities of mine, not merely for the sake of traveller voyeurism, but to help one gain a greater understanding and appreciation of people who are different--and yet the same--to many or most of us.

I was delighted to discover, after I first read the book in 2001, that there was a sequel and still later I found a whole series waiting for me. Even now Smith seems to have plans for more adventures of Mma Ramotswe, and I've read all the books in his other series, as well as his stand-alone works--at least the most popular ones. From what I gather Smith, A Scot who grew up in Africa, is a rather prolific writer, with titles ranging from the ones I've mentioned here, to others such as Forensic Aspects of Sleep and The Criminal Law of Botswana.

I've been intrigued enough to do a little research on my own regarding the country known as "the success story of Africa," and have come across a wealth of information that exemplifies the way children expand their world when they read: from one paragraph they may learn two new words, from a chapter of a new world, and from the entire book a whole new set of questions. I'm so happy to write here that it remains an exciting prospect for me as well, when I read books and they open up doors to knowledge I never knew existed. What is it they say? What you never knew you never knew.

Two links that may be of interest to you regard:

Unity Dow, a Botswana attorney who currently struggles to make the citizenship laws of her country more equitable--currently a married woman may not pass her citizenship to her children. (The brief linked here is rather long, but the language is straightforward and accessable.)

and

Botswana Gazette a national newspaper. There also are foreign newspapers published in Botswana, magazine, press and Internet.

Alexander McCall Smith also maintains a web site, dedicated to his works and projects, here. There is lovely music playing from it now as I type, and there is a lot of factual as well as fun information. I've wandered through it a few times and thought or wondered a few things, such as, I love to say the word Molepolole or Is Tlokweng, as in Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, pronounced 'Klokweng,' with the same start sound as our Tlingit? I've also tried a variety of African bush tea (it's delicious; I take it sans honey) and briefly written with a person from Gaborone, the capital.

Now I am about to read the first book again, perhaps as part of our grownup reading circle, and it will probably be an entirely new journey.

Gliding towards come-uppance (JE # 4)

I hope nobody is getting bored with this blow-by-blow account of Otis Spofford and Adam's take of and responses to the book. As I discussed, I'd hoped to have another child help us liven it up a bit, but it didn't happen today.

Tonight I wrote about Otis and Stewy's competition, but we'd actually read a bit farther than that up until Otis, experiencing a typical young boy obsession with Indians (as depicted in 1964, when the book was written; I'm not sure if boys still play that game or not), play-acts that he is going to "scalp" Ellen. Stewy condescendingly eggs him on as he holds a pair of scissors close to Ellen's hair and Otis, pride puffed up by this and the way the kids had made fun of his mixed-in-with-a-red-sock pink undershirt, shocks even himself by actually cutting off a thick lock of Ellen's hair.

In this particular part I read it slowly, with a bit more deliberation and tried to make my gesticulations dramatic enough to fit the action. I place my hand on my cheek and widen my eyes as I read hotly, "Otis Spofford, you are going to pay for this!" Then, in a much quieter tone, I read the narrator's words telling of Otis's surprise at Ellen, who had never behaved this way before. And the slow walk to the front of the room when it is realized the returned Mrs. Gitler is standing in the doorway, and I hope my solemn voice reproduces the dread Otis feels as he knows he is in for it.

Several times I had to stop and explain something, some action or a word Adam didn't know the meaning of, or just a way of people, such as the way unsupervised children suddenly bend back over their readers when they hear the teacher coming. This was a good thing, though, because it not only prolonged the drama and suspense, but it also built up in him an awe for what was happening. I also had in my mind a small concern about any ideas he might get--not because Adam is inclined to do such a thing, but because I may have an overactive imagination for the potentials--and so I tossed in a few leading questions that would bring him to ideas about how even children might feel about particular extreme acts. As Otis held Ellen's hair on his upper lip to elicit some laughter, but not getting any, I queried Adam: "Did the kids enjoy that? Maybe they were thinking, 'I'm a guy witha mustache'?" (This is a line from a Spongebob episode in which the main character plays with a piece of paper, at one point holding it as if it were a mustache.)

"Nooooooooooooo," Adam answered, great seriousness in his voice.

"They didn't see that episode maybe."

"No. That is a terrible thing to do. It's not funny what Otis did."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Yeeeeees."

"A little trouble, or big trouble?"

"Big, BIG trouble."

"Would anyone in your class ever do that? Cut off someone's hair?"

"NO!" He raised his voice, and it even became a bit harsh. "I will NEVER do that. I will SIT. AT. MY. TISCH.* AND. MIND. MY. OWN. BUSINESS." Each word was punctuated with a smash of his fist on his Superman blanket, and the whole sentence ended with a pointed finger jabbing at the book.

*table

The chapter ends with Otis on his way to The Office--this has long been a capital-letter worthy noun to Adam--and I tried to wind it down and say a few more words, make a short discussion, about what we'd read and what might happen next. I intimated that not only would Otis get in trouble from his principal, but even the kids might show him they'd had enough. True to his reading style, Adam begged me to read, "just a couple more pages, pleeeeeeeaaaaassse."

Even this turned out well because of where we ended up stopping. It's the next morning--Saturday-- and Otis is trying to hurry his mother with her ironing of his shirt so he can get to the lake for ice skating "before the crowd get there." Here the narrator relates that Otis didn't tell his mother he knew it would be his last chance to go skating as the principal would keep him after school every day next week.

"Did Otis tell his mother what happened?"

"Yeahhhh."

"He did?"

Adam knits his brow.

"He told his mom he wanted to beat the crowd, but he didn't tell her he would be after school every day next week." These days kids typically cannot be kept after school because of bus schedules, so Adam likely doesn't know about this "old-fashioned" form of disipline. "Why do you think he didn't tell her about that?"

"Ohhhh, she doesn't know. Does she?"

Adam may have intended by his statement that, indeed, Otis didn't tell his mother about his trouble, but his follow-up question brings up a good point: about how mothers many times know without saying so--although this likely was not what he meant.

"Maybe she does. What do you think?"

"Noooo," he scorned.

"How do you know?" I challenged. "Mothers always find out about this stuff eventually."

Snort. "How are they gonna find out?"

"By talking to the teacher." Adam's teacher and I are in frequent contact via face-to-face or e-mail converations, and he knows it.

His countenance softened a bit and he conceded, "And the principal." His face was serious again.

"But maybe she doesn't know yet." I drew out the drama a bit because I'd seen a good place to stop. I continued reading: "'Otis,' his mother called. 'I want to have a talk with you.'"

Adam's eyes widened and he gasped, and I knew he understood the implication. (And I was really pleased because he had had to be taught to recognise social cues such as facial expressions and tones of voice; now he seemed to be getting better at reading between the lines, at least with some strong context behind him.)

What was even more fascinating to me regarding children's desire to keep reading and willingness to wait, was his seeming inclination to keep the cliffhanger intact after I explained to him what that is.




Or maybe he was just tired.

Stewy bugs Otis (JE # 3)

"Look at that dragonfly," he said. "That's a beauty." Otis felt a little better. At least Hack Battleson liked his dragonfly.

Over the past few days Adam and I have been reading Otis Spofford as well as a few other books. Sometimes I wonder if Adam needs a break from Otis or if on occasion my timing is just off, because during one reading he seemed rather unenthusiastic. He may have just been tired, I suppose, or not in the mood for this boy, whom Adam doesn't always view as a sympathetic character. "He's mean," he says with surprise.

We don't finish a chapter at each reading (I don't, in fact, make that a goal), and on one night I didn't even get to a suitable transition spot. We just ended up stopping because it simply wasn't working well. Adam was, tired as he was, restless and simply could not sit still unless it was to go to sleep, which he did rather quickly after we decided to close the book. I was OK with stopping, but I felt a bit bad that it didn't seem a good experience for him, and wondered if fatigue was the only problem.

But he seemed to have recovered quickly because soon enough he was carrying the book around the house again and talking about Mutt the rat, whom Otis had smuggled contraband food into the classroom for, thereby upsetting a class experiment on nutrition. Mutt was supposed to be fed soda pop and bread while Pinky, another rat, was fed leftovers from the school's lunch menu. Mrs. Gitler's goal in the end was to show that on pop and bread a rat would not grow well. Otis felt sorry for the rat, however, and his secret was at the cost of his own lunch hour (and lunch) as he was, unknown to his teacher, locked into the classroom--on one occasion while she sat just on the other side of the class from where he secreted himself. In the end it was revealed someone else, that disturbingly clean and neat and obedient girl Ellen Tebbits, was also secretly sustaining Mutt, and the two had a tense battle for who got to take home the rat at project's end.

"Raise your hand, Otis! Wave it!" Adam waved his hand wildly as if instructing Otis how to be seen by Mrs. Gitler, who was ignoring him following Ellen's confession. When he, too, confessed and the rat was awarded to Ellen--"Yes, Ellen, since you told us about feeding Mutt first, you may have him for a pet"--he was sorely disappointed and complained bitterly to himself. But Adam consoled him by advising of Ellen's tidiness and unsuitability for a pet rat. (Apparently he had started to feel a bit of sympathy for the fictional character!) As Otis sat in front of his home Adam predicted that Ellen, who at this point was walking down the street, would give him the animal. "Her mommy won't let her keep a rat!" And sure enough this is exactly how it turned out.

It was really interesting to watch all this unfold from the viewpoint of another, from a child, especially given that Adam has not always been this adept at such skills as predicting. His commentary has become somewhat astute as well, and I'm very eager to read to him with another child in attendance. I am curious to see another child's perspective, if Adam holds back with her present (I'm thinking of a particular friend of his), or if there is any kind of distracting quality in our new dynamic.

The next time we read was a bit different. He was more subdued, but it didn't seem to be for any negative reason. It was also interesting to see that though insects were involved, he not only didn't mind, he was downright engaged. (In "real" life he is not fond of insects and often checks under his blanket (or sleeps on top) to make sure none are under there.) As with his lack of involvement with dogs, books seem to give him the opportunity to get closer to something, see what it is like or how it works, at no risk to him.

On a boring early evening after school, Otis and Stewy are canvassing the neighborhood looking for something to do when they happen upon Hack Battleson, a high school football player who has star status in the boys' eyes. Otis is unhappy and restless until then, and when he learns Hack needs to collect 30 bugs for a science project, he offers to help. Stewy follows suit and this bugs Otis, who dreams of being the sole saviour of the high school football team: Having collected the bugs, he would have freed Hack to practice his game.

But Stewy, much to Otis's (and Adam's) chagrin, insists on being a part of the action and the race is on! The boys have until 6.30 and the competition is fierce. Adam, who had chanted the "T-T-T-A-Y. L-L-L-O-R. T-A-Y. L-O-R. Ta-a-ay-lor!" cheer along with the boys earlier, now urged Otis to hurry up and get his bugs. At one point when Otis climbs a trellis Adam asked me to look it up on the Internet and show him a picture. I'd done this before as an easy way to give him a visual of something he was unfamiliar with, and like any smart child of our computerized information age, he remembered the lesson well. It kind of made me wonder in a sort of sidebar part of my thoughts at that moment, how he would later feel about Internet books. Would they be ordinary to him, having been born and raised on computers? Or would having had many books with pictures and possibly a special sort of aura about them be a mark against Web books?

Then I read a sentence about a fly and Adam chimed in with, "If you took his wings off would he be called a walk?" He was starting to get into the moment again and I laughed heartily at his memory of a joke we'd shared. When Stewy admonishes Otis for "stealing" a bug (because it came from the sidewalk in front of the rival's house), Adam quickly came to Otis's defense: "It's not your sidewalk," which was along the lines of Otis's own retort.

But Otis doesn't waste time arguing and goes to his own house to follow up on an idea; Bucky, a kindergarten neighbor dressed up as a cowboy, is there and begging for attention as usual. I was wondering how Adam might receive Otis's impatience with the kindergartner and characterizations of little kids, but he didn't seem bothered. The cowboy costume might have saved Bucky in the eyes of our own kindergarten reader.

In the end Otis, who has only 29 bugs and fears Stewy has beaten him, discovers one of Stewy's gems is actually a spider, a critter Hack had prohibited for its non-insect status (too many legs). Just as the discovery is made known to Hack, the dog scratches himself--as he had in the beginning of the story, a neat little way to fit things together--and Otis gets the idea to, "get a flea off the dog!" Adam mightn't have thought of this had we not read about how fleas had played a role in Ribsy and that dog's inability to return to his owner (who had taken the collar off to give the poor pooch some relief). But then again, all predictive ability relies on previous knowledge, and I felt a lot of pleasure that Adam had gained from it for his body of knowledge and brought it to bear here.

Once more Otis settles for a compromise of sorts as Stewy insists the flea belongs to him--it is his dog after all. Running home for dinner, Otis consoles himself with a fantasy of being Five Yard Spofford, running towards a touchdown to save the Zachary P. Taylor High School football team's big game.

This reading was actually a few days ago and as I type this I recall Adam asking on a following afternoon, "What does compromise mean?" I answered his inquiry and we discussed it, but it didn't occur to me until just now that he may have been remembering it from our discussion of the chapter after we stopped reading for the night. I can't really be sure, as he hears and reads all kinds of words big and small, but true to the childlike ability to teach us grownups a thing or two, I was given a reminder of how long those post-reading summaries last in a child's mind. Not just days, but also, as the information becomes part of his being, a lifetime.

Of love and teeth and running out of spit (JE # 2)

With all this icy weather and dangerous driving conditions, staying home has created a little extra time for reading. It also enabled my son and I to talk more about what he's been doing at school, and he explained the toothbrush I found in his backpack by telling me someone had been talking to his class about how to take care of their teeth. This worked out perfectly since he'd recently lost a second tooth and we had picked out a couple of books from the library on the topic. He wanted to read Tooth Decay and Cavities (Dr. Alvin Silverstein, et al.) and we had a pretty interesting discussion about animals, the various teeth types of which the first pages discuss. Like most little boys, my son digs animals, so this was right up his alley.

He has a tendency to try to take over the reading or conversation, so it can sometimes be a challenge not to let that happen while still giving him fair room for comments and testing out his knowledge of the books and issues we are discussing. We didn't get very far into the book, but he did remember several pages away that the teeth you lose are also called milk teeth; commented how cute a baby pictured was; and cried out happily at the sight of a girl who'd lost one tooth,"Ah! She only has one lost and I've already got two out!" And when the book briefly mentions the Tooth Fairy--a figure whose intrusive entry and access to such close personal space as he slept alarmed him enough to want her to deposit the money in his shoe--he reminded me that in at least one other country the kids throw their teeth up over their houses. It was pleasant to hear him reiterate from another book we'd read together, Throw Your Tooth on the Roof, one of the traditions he learned of that occurs in another country.

There also was a book he'd picked up at the library, I Love You Through and Through, that he has been carrying with him all over the house. Owing to a lost library book that we now own, I had long ago established that no borrowed books are allowed to be brought to his room; instead they must stay on the living room shelves and permission must be sought to remove any from the room. This one, however, seems to have struck him in a special way. I'm not sure if it is the cute baby on the cover holding up a teddy bear in the same way a mom holds aloft a tiny baby.


The picture is mainly soft curves with no sharp edges, and the sentiment expressed--even without benefit of being able to read the words--is one of sheer affection and desire to care for another. My son seems to be a sentimental person and also has demonstrated some incredible acts of kindness, and he adores babies. Or the picture (and even the roundness and softness of the book itself) could be triggering him to feel more his own desire (previously expressed) to remain a baby. He seems attached to it in a way some kids are attached to a blankie. Then he announced he wanted to read it to me, and it started to dawn on me: this is the very first book in which I have experienced the phenomenon of him "reading" it to me., as opposed to pointing out words. I do believe some of the words he is capable of deciphering, while others, such as through, toes, nose, hair, eyes, giggles, cries, walking, talking, today and tomorrow, along with previous knowledge of children's outstanding memories, made me wonder if at least part of his reading was memorization.

Especially since the text is quite short, I think it is worth repeating it here:

I love you through and through.
I love your top side.
I love your bottom side.
I love your inside
and outside.
I love your happy side,
your sad side,
your silly side,
your mad side.
I love your fingers
and toes,
your ears
and nose.
I love your hair and eyes,
your giggles
and cries.
I love you running
and walking,
silent
and talking.
I love you through and through...
yesterday, today, and tomorrow, too!

As we read on, though, I noticed he would interrupt his own rhythm to correct himself. For example, he would have a groove going and to continue with "I love you..." would seem to fit in. Well, first of all, I know he can distinguish those particular words, but also he actually stopped to sound out what the words really were. He is getting really good at it, though sometimes gives up. I want to try to get him to do it, but don't want to push too hard--that's a balance I have to find techniques for so I can know better when is too much, and when encouragement won't risk overwhelming a child.

Finally we moved on to Otis Spofford again. As mentioned elsewhere, I'd read this book as a child and loved the chapter in which "Otis Takes Aim"--he gets into trouble for shooting spitballs. The teacher cleverly warns him that if he shoots another she will make sure he wishes he had never even thought of shooting spitballs. It was a perfect moment to engage a young reader in developing his predictive abilities. He had done pretty good articulating (and in a fairly pithy manner) the links from one development to the next. For example, after the teacher gives Otis the warning he drives himself to distraction wondering what Mrs. Gitler could possibly do to make him sorry he shot spitballs. As he absentmindedly rolls a piece of paper into a ball, Stewy urges him, "Go on. Make a spitball." We had great fun reproducing this Stewy moment, and Adam declared, with a sly smile on his face, "He just wants Otis to do it to get in trouble. Otis hit Stewy before with a spitball." There was also the perfect amount of tension as Otis is made wild with wondering just before the bell is to ring for lunch. If Otis, who really is a good student when he wants to be, but gets bored easily, if he can just make it to the bell he could go to lunch and recess and perhaps lose his obsessive interest in the teacher's threat. But the minute passes slowly and he just has to know and I read the words with urgency, Adam getting right into the mix. "Oh no!" he cried out, agitated and fidgeting, of course with the smile and bearing of someone who seems to be sure of his position as observer, not having to actually endure such suspense. However, not actually knowing what Mrs. Gitler will do, he, too, is somewhat caught up in the drama, and I saw the delight in his face as he jumped up on the bed, pretending to shoot spitballs (following my description and pretend example), "Whhffffttt! Whhffffttt!" He jumped on the bed, banging his fists together and complained, "Oh man! What will she do? She is gonna kick him!"

As it turns out Otis shoot his last spitball just as the bell rings, Mrs. Gitler ignores him and after recess assigns him to shoot spitballs into the bin as the class, distracted by a much more fun and interesting music session (clever lady!), ignores him and gets on with their day. More tension is added not only as his mouth gets drier and drier (with typical childlike hyperbole he wonders if his tongue is blackened and swollen), but also when a fire drill occurs and his failed attempt to sneak a drink from the water fountain engenders the lovely flow of smooth, clear, ice-cold water and the sensation of it within one's mouth (including Adam who, lucky me, loves water)--and then the sharp blow of having it taken away at the last second. "Oh!" Adam wailed, slapping his forehead. "Oh man I don't believe this!" he cried out happily, completely immersed in the events.

In the end Otis is forced to admit to Mrs. Gitler he has had enough of spitballs and she allows him to go get a drink. Unfortunately a terrible taste remains in his mouth even after his thirst is quenched, and he ends up biting a piece of garlic he'd snagged from his house that morning. As he exhales, the children near him are disgusted by the smell and he discovers that by blowing his breath at them, he has once more captured their attention.

I'm not sure this book would be suitable for a kindergarten (too many children and too much explaining to do in a short period of time, possibly), but I sure would love to read it to an older class. Just reading it alone presents me with so many ways to engage a child by way of asking questions, predicting, relating, talking about how events influence each other, why certain choice are good (not just Otis's actions but the choice on the part of the teacher re: activity to engage the class in to help them ignore Otis), discussing cause and effect, interpersonal communication, and so on. It was as thrilling to me as I think it was for Adam--and not just for the lesson plan possibilities.

Otis gets bullish (JE # 1)

Otis Spofford always wants to "stir a little something up," and his
class's Mexican folk dance for the PTA is his opportunity! His teacher, Mrs. Gitler, assigns him to be one half of the bull, along with Stewy, who has the misfortune to be the rear half. But Otis
has in mind a trick he'll play on George, the matador whom the restless bull perceives to be a bit too satisfied with his role. Instead of allowing himself to be defeated by George, as he is meant to do, adventure-seeking Otis decides to charge and get the matador from behind! He is even more pleased with himself when the PTA audience laughs uproariously, even though Mrs. Gitler has promised she will "deal with" him later. But Otis doesn't count on George's retribution, which includes a few paddles with his sword on Stewy's bottom! By fiesta's end, both George and Stewy are upset with Otis, who finds himself chased home after school.


Perhaps many small boys have a bit of Otis in them. As I read this book to my son, he performed some of the same tricks Otis himself did: pawing the ground, snorting like a bull and charging the air ahead of him. Although we often read at bedtime, like tonight, it wasn't in this instance the most opportune time because we both had been cooped up all day between the school cancellation and roads being dangerous and some even closed. Still, Adam did pretty good for the circumstance, and redirection was still not so hard. He likes to look at the words as I read, because he is always on the lookout for words he knows, such as like, the, love, go, fun, to, too, mommy, boy and toy.

Otis liked to tease George by singing out, "Toreador!" and Adam wanted to join in. He sung out the word and picked it out from the page, spelling it as he pointed. And as Otis, walking onto the playground and discovering his enormous audience, starts to cheer to himself, Adam informed me that now the boy would have many more people to give him attention, although the teacher wasn't going to like it. Interestingly enough, we had just a few minutes before been discussing negative attention, thanks to a boy in his kindergarten class who engages in it frequently (and used to draw Adam into his antics).

As we finished up the chapter, Otis was raring to escape the school--not wanting to stick around for the punch and cookies, nor the outcome of George and Stewy's warnings to "just wait"--and Adam was rather ancy as well. It had been too sedentary a day and although he asks questions and engages himself, he doesn't seem to take to this book quite as much as he did with Ribsy, by the same author. There may be a "danger" factor (Adam is afraid of dogs) that excites him, given that he can experience the thrill of a dog without having to actually be near one, or perhaps Otis is just not that exciting a boy. (I had been hoping he would find funny the chapter I remember, when Otis gets caught shooting spitballs and is made to sit on a chair, bin positioned a meter or so away, and do nothing else but shoot them for an hour or so.) Whatever the case, I'll give it another go at a better time, although I am inclined to leave it off if he doesn't seem interested--or even ask him outright what he thinks of the book and take my cue from that.

Welcome to my blog!

Ribsy in Grant Park near Klickitat St., Portland, Oregon
Originally uploaded by marymactavish

Thank you for stopping to visit my blog! I'm writing here as part of an early education class in which we study children's literature. As I also have a child of my own, my reading of children's literature has gotten a pretty good start. I'm looking forward to recommendations of other books and to learn more about this genre.

My son, who will be six in March, adores books and I've read to him since he was born. When he was very small I read aloud the books or magazines I was reading, later picking up kiddie books and showing them to him. Recently he and I read Beverly Cleary's Ribsy, and it was pretty thrilling to watch his excitement grow as the story progressed (especially as he, though seeming to like the idea of dogs, is less than thrilled with them in real life). I chose it because I had read all the related books as a child and loved them; I was also motivated to expose him to a series of "boy" books. And this first one did not disappoint. He still squeals with delight, hugs the book and cries out, in a longing fashion, "Ribsy! Ribsy!" when he sees a picture or some reference to the book elsewhere.

For myself, I have always loved to read, and as a child was a big fan of Lewis Carroll. Along with the Looking Glass books and the author's nonsense poetry, I was enamored with Sylvie and Bruno, though I also liked a lot of other books.


Nowadays I enjoy a variety of books as well, from memoir to fiction and non-fiction, as well as children's literature. My son says some of his favorite books are the Ribsy ones, Harold and the Purple Crayon, the Arthur and Berenstain Bears series and "all kid books." He's probably right about that; when we go to the library he is not shy about picking books from all over the spectrum.


Whenever I mention a book here in the blog, I will try to include it on Adam's shelf--a link to which is at the top right of the page. At that site you can see the different books he has read, what he is currently reading and what he wants to read. (I haven't yet gotten around to adding in all the books he owns, although I can assure you we are rapidly running out of space.) Or, if you prefer, you can have a look without leaving this page, at bottom right. Just look for the virtual shelf!