Reading…with KIDS

Spring time

2012-01-24T23:27:00.000-05:00

Molly didn't really play with toys as a baby: She would picksomething up, turn it around in her hands, maybe shake it once or twice, thenlet it go. It wasn't out of sight after that but it was out of mind.

Then, as a toddler she did two things that I remember clearly andthese puzzled me: She had a baby cup with lid and some pennies, and she carriedthese around everywhere. She had fashioned a toy that had some versatility:coins in or out, rattle, carrying case for towers that she intended to build,etc.

But if she had created the cup-and-pennies combo for the purposeof construction, she used objects at hand for incidental destruction. Namely,pens and flashlights--these disappeared at a noticeable rate.

It was probably a good thing, then, that my husband and Ieffortlessly accumulated pens and flashlights before children arrived. Yearslater, we would find a flashlight or pen on the floor and pick it up only todiscover that it was a mere shell of its former self. The kid didn't intend todestroy these objects, but in taking them apart she would lose or breaksomething critical in the assembly and render it useless to us.

The loss of household objects was very minor compared to thebenefits that Molly derived from their discovery. When toddler Molly told meabout the two different kinds of pens--those with springs and those without--Iwas happy to hear the excitement in her voice.

She loved the springs, so mystery solved, right? But what ofthe flashlights? I couldn't crack that one for, oddly enough, whenever I foundher with a flashlight, the damage had already been done.

This happened so often that, at times, after our initialcollection dwindled, I couldn't determine if we were buying flashlights sooften to replenish our own supply or to replenish hers.

At any rate, we would hide the more expensive ones and, sometimes,we'd be down to our last flashlight only to turn around and discover it inMolly's hands. Somehow, she always found them.

Being less than Martha-like in keeping my home, the cases of thelights and the pens didn't disappear. Today, I discovered that Molly had aproprietary attachment to this collection at the time and even now, more thantwo-and-a-half years later.

"Could I have a box of things to take apart again?" Sheasked this morning.

I explained that she was welcome to take things apart--and shedidn't ever really stop--provided that she now ask beforehand out of respectfor the other family members.

"Could I take apart this pen?" She asked at lunch.

It was a good pen. I mean, it had been a pen that I really likedbut, as she held it up to me, I thought of "TheLittle Prince" by Antoinede Saint-Exupéry and the narrator's bitterness at having been discouragedfrom the pursuit of art in his childhood. If I stopped her now, wouldshe, like the narrator as an adult drawing only a boa constrictor eating anelephant, only ever be able to figure out pens and flashlights? Would I beinhibiting the growth of a future scientist?

"Sure," I said, already mentally trying to replace thepen with another.

A few minutes later, she sat on her knees at the dining roomtable, peering through a heavy magnifying glass.

Indeed, it is spring-time in our house again but I did save theuniverse from losing a scientist before getting lunch on the table. I guess itall evens out.

A wishlist grows . . .

2011-12-03T02:22:00.000-05:00

The Granta Book of the African Short Story edited by Helon Habila

In the introduction to this extremely welcome collection, Helon Habila mentions that it’s often, far too often, supposed that African Literature begins and ends with Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.

-- From The Skinny via Book Riot

Where the Streets Had a Name by Randa Abdel-Fattah

Thirteen-year-old Hayaat is on a mission. She believes a handful of soil from her grandmother's ancestral home in Jerusalem will save her beloved Sitti Zeynab's life. The only problem is the impenetrable wall that divides the West Bank, as well as the check points, the curfews, the permit system . . .

-- From the official Randa Abdel-Fattah site

I am pretty sure that my husband reads my blog. So, dearest, where words fail, consider this post to be the equivalent of your wife jumping up and down while frantically waving her arms in the air to get your attention: "These! Over here!" I'm shouting. "I want these!"

Notes/Canada Reads

2011-11-29T12:02:00.003-05:00

If I make a list of New Year resolutions . . .

Jian Ghomeshi and the books/panelists for Canada Reads 2012

(N.B. Prisoner of Tehran by Marina Nemat defended by Arlene Dickinson.)

(CBC/Books)

Love this . . . Eloise, Betsey Johnson, and the Plaza Hotel

2011-11-29T11:16:00.002-05:00

http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/11/29/betsey-johnson-unveils-eloise-christmas-tree-at-plaza-hotel/

All around the Magic Tree House

2011-10-04T13:25:00.004-04:00

While Keith and Devyn continue their nightly Harry Potter club meetings, Molly and I are at an impasse.

It isn't that I don't want to read or that we've run out of material -- we don't agree about which book it is that we should be reading.

It all started at the beginning of September when the girls and I visited a bookstore while waiting for Devyn's evening ballet class. Molly discovered The Magic Tree House: Midnight on the Moon (Mary Pope Osborne), brandished the book before me, and declared it The.Next.Book. that we just had to read.

Well, we started it that week but, by Friday, Molly had discovered a book about ninjas from the selfsame series -- and didn't look back.

(You need to know that she did not know what a ninja is (probably because I didn't know) yet she had decided that it would be far more interesting than the book that I REALLY WANT to read.)

"But," I protested, "we're on the fourth chapter! We can't just leave the story where we left it."

"Yes, we can," she giggled. "We just won't pick it up."

I was frustrated and bemused. (And, hey, did she just engage me in wordplay?) Here we were at the end of the month and we weren't moving forward. Each night since we'd read the third chapter, Molly had chosen a different book -- really, any other book -- to make her point that we would not be reading Midnight on the Moon.

"I thought you love the Magic Tree House?"

"I do love it and we can read it . . .If it's about ninjas."

I had to think about it for a while: what kind of reader was she? I reminded myself that I was dealing with the kid who -- I'm not joking -- used to refer to her alphabet books as nonfiction. Then, it occurred to me and I knew why she had lost interest in the book about the moon (a subject close to her) and I've mentioned it before: Molly loves nonfiction and she loves fiction but she's not terribly keen on the mostly fiction-some fact hybrid. The facts (obviously positioned) in the titles that I've read so far in the Magic Tree House lack sufficient detail to quench her thirst. Put another way, the books contain either too much or too little of the factual to keep her reading.

But, why ninjas? Like any four-year-old, the kid loved and still loves mystery and learning. The world of the ninja had yet to be explored at that point, but I sense that, just as she dismissed both Dinosaurs Before Dark and Midnight on the Moon, she will grow bored and we won't finish the book about ninjas.

After weighing the options, I don't think I should interrupt this emerging pattern because she gets something from her approach-retreat relationship with the series even if I don't know just what that would be. (It may be that she has yet to figure out that each book in the series will be similar in style; maybe she is optimistic).

On the other hand, I recently picked up one of the companion research guides that is available in the series which, I'm confident, would provide the missing facts that Molly wants. Then, the next time that she dismisses a Magic Tree House book, I could reach for a guide and see if that sustains her interest.

Who knows? I just want to avoid the mother-child morass of guidance vs. intrusion because I've learned my lesson with Devyn. Please note that I am patting myself on the back because I haven't pushed the issue of reading these books in sequence (though I really, really want to) because that's my thing, not theirs.

The Mesozoic Era, the Middle East, and Hogwarts

2011-08-08T22:30:00.070-04:00

July 22, 2011 - the pop-up dinosaur book

"Here, Mummy! Mummy, here! The Mesozoic Era!" she calls to me as she throws the book on my bed and begins the climb up.

Molly is fascinated by dinosaurs and frequently asks me to read books with her on the subject. Last month, I bought some miniature figures to add to her collection. I thought that we could compare our figures to images in the book for the purposes of identification. She loves that idea.

In June -- I think it was June -- we read Mary Pope Osborne's first in the Magic Tree House series: Dinosaurs Before Dark.

It's intended for children aged 6 to 9 years but the information it contains is pretty scant. Frankly, I can't imagine a nine-year-old being satisfied with it. I know my four-year-old wasn't; thankfully, however, she's still of an age where meaning is found in amazing, unexpected places, and the mechanism of time travel was more important to her. It didn't matter where anyone landed, just that someone left now and went to then.

I enjoyed reading it with Molly. We call it our first chapter book. I'm not sure that it is our first but it definitely was a good time. I ended up having to teach her, and therefore teach myself, about the Mesozoic Era and the different kinds of prehistoric animals.

We have a book called My First Book of Dinosaurs which she loves -- we get to look at what modern-day animals may have looked like about 65 million years or so ago.

At the local library, we've spent a lot of time mostly playing and reporting the girls' reading for the book club. Most recently, Molly devoured 35 books as I begged for the opportunity to redirect her. I even told her that it was quite a funny position for a mother to be in at a library: Telling a child to go play--i.e.,instead of reading--isn't something you imagine that you'd hear yourself saying.

-- I want to read 500 books and win the contest!

-- You do? That's a lot of books.

-- Is there a contest, Mummy?

-- No.

-- Oh. How many have we read?

-- Thirty-five. But, if there were a contest, we would have won it.

-- Yay!

I think, however, that anyone listening would have taken my side: My throat was hurting and we were far enough from her goal of 500 books, anyway, that pausing wouldn't have affected our progress.

Among those books was at least one title of the How Do Dinosaurs . . . series by Jann Yolen and Mark Teague. So, really, a day without dinosaurs hasn't gone by this summer.

Then, on August 1, as most of my summer nights have unfolded, I lay back and read another few chapters of Almost Dead by Assaf Gavron -- and finished it! Set in modern Israel, involving two men, one Jewish and one Palestinian, it is a mixture of satire and fact that really has my head spinning. It's clever, far more so than I think that I am able to appreciate at this point in my life, and it's so much funnier than I'd anticipated.

I suspect that once I start to write about this book, it will go on for years: It's that important to me. Yes, but that's it; I won't say anything more about this book until I have sat down to write about it more meaningfully.

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts . . .

Devyn and Keith are now reading Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince (6th book). I believe I stopped after Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (5th book), so I have no idea what's going on in the series at that point.

Because I'm not part of the Harry Potter book club at home, I asked Keith about his impressions of the reading time that he and Devyn spend together. First, he says, she's "absolutely enthralled" and he is amazed that, at her age (8), she can follow a story so well through six books. She knows the characters very well and understands the significance of plot events.

Each night, before reading, Keith asks her key questions about the prior sitting and asks her to make predictions; he says that she always gives intelligent answers.

What I find most touching is his report that she likes to follow his reading on the page. (Her reading, incidentally, has improved by leaps and by bounds over the past few months.)

Both us of were aware at the outset that the subject matter of the books would be, at times, frightening and mature; Keith says she handles it very well.

She knows the characters and greatly empathizes with Harry.

Though she and I have our books that we plan to read together, I know that Devyn really wants to be at Hogwarts right now with her Dad, so I don't press the issue. Our time to read together again will come, most likely, in a few months.

---

Many changes are taking place here, on this blog, and some of them are not quite finished .

I plan to re-establish links between book images and the relevant blog posts as well as to create more pages . . .

So, don't mind the dust.

The Three Little Pigs: In, Down, Over

2011-06-16T10:04:00.171-04:00

We have a number of versions of The Three Little Pigs and, with each version that I read to her, poor Molly becomes frustrated beyond belief.

Why? Because the wolf blows the house in and not down or over.

Little pig, little pig, let me come in.

'No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin.'

Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in.*

Surely, she has asked me, there is a version that has the correct word? In fact, she can recall that I've read it to her in the past but I have no such memory. I have explained, while stifling a laugh, that the word is used because it rhymes with "chinny chin chin" but it's to no avail. She anticipates, at each sitting, the first huffing-and-puffing episode with hope and, looking up at the ceiling, expresses her disappointment and frustration when the wolf threatens to blow the house in.

Why is she hung up on a preposition? I've wondered. Well, in her world, as I've come to understand it, perfection is something you should expect and which you should want to expect. I'm not exaggerating. Despite all my efforts to explain that perfection is not attainable, that striving towards it leads to strife, that everyone has to accept degrees of imperfection and accommodation, the child will not believe me. YOU may settle for imperfection, but she will not.

That many things come easily to her only reinforces her drive. As such, we had the following conversation on May 6:

– Why do you like everything to be perfect?

– Because everything is boring if it isn't perfect.

– What does being perfect mean?

– Getting things perfect.

– How can you make mistakes if everything has to be perfect?

– I won't.

– I make mistakes and I'm not perfect. Is that OK?

– I'm perfect.

It not only extends to conversations but to interactions in general. She exacts perfection from the world. Honestly, I didn't quite know what to say the other day when, as a friend of hers expected a gaming device to be charged immediately after plugging it in, Molly, in a world-weary kind of way, snapped: "Just let it suck up some electricity first!"

She also has an adorable, if perplexing, habit of telling you to say something:

– Is this a good idea, Mum? Say, 'That's a good idea'.

– That's a good idea.

In this way, she constructs the world as she likes it. Lately, we've taken to imitating her in a very affectionate way:

– Is this a good idea, Mummy? Say, 'That's a good idea.'

– That's a good idea, Daddy.

But, as you might expect, she doesn't like this at all as, we've discovered, she has a proprietary attachment to this manner of speech:

– Hey! You can't say that, Daddy!

– Why not?

– That's MY expression.

Of course, we find her adorable as everyone finds their children adorable. Devyn, however, has another approach which is completely understandable:

– Devyn, why didn't you repeat what she said to say? (I asked, out of curiosity, one day.)

– Oh. I never say what she commands me to say.

And, that, I've concluded, is how the rest of the world is going to react to our little perfectionist; so we don't correct Devyn's behaviour and, surprisingly, Molly doesn't ever press the issue with her.

This disposition of hers may be advantageous in the area of computer games. Unfortunately, she gets upset when a computer game doesn't behave in a way that she would like it to: If she thinks a snowman should be able to be increased to 2x its size but the game only allows 1.5x, then Molly gets emotional. She used to throw tantrums at two and three years old and each session invariably ended with me telling her that, if she was going to play a game, she would have to follow its rules and not get upset; otherwise, she'd have to turn to another activity.

Keith explained it to her this way: "The only way that you will ever get a game to do exactly what you want is to program one yourself." She seemed to understand this but it was little consolation.

Thankfully, she is obsessed with The Magic School Bus cartoon and books and the teacher, Ms. Frizzle, in the cartoon always says, "Get out there and make some mistakes" or some such thing, which emphasizes my own words that sum up the we-learn-by-making-mistakes approach to life. She takes it all in--over and over and over again--but she doesn't agree.

So, when I correct her behaviour, she quickly points out, "This is MY way of doing something." Frankly, this is fine if she's drawing or creating but not if she's doing something dangerous or unacceptable.

Molly will ask me—or her father—to please use the word "down" if we're going to read the story of The Three Little Pigs to her. I don't see anything wrong with doing so and she doesn't care about losing the rhyme scheme.

Perhaps she'll create computer games one day. Last year, she wanted to be a "brain doctor" or a "muffin maker"—it was all so unclear to her. She tells me these days that she will, in fact, be a doctor; but, no matter how capable she becomes of creating things or of fixing people, the wolf will always blow the house in, and not down or over, as long as she's reading somebody else's work. Life's just like that. Of course, she could decide to write her own version of The Three Little Pigs. . .
__

Attributions:
Illustration by Leonard Leslie Brooke. 1904 adaptation. (source: Wikipedia)
*Jacobs, Joseph (1890). English Fairy Tales. Oxford University. pp. 68–72. (source: Wikipedia

The Perils of a Good Book - 1

2011-04-14T21:57:00.004-04:00

Distraction

(Or, Why I may have to walk Molly to university when the time comes . . . )

I bit my tongue so that she could see, in a safe way, just how dangerous such a budding skill can be. At this point, it is best reserved for the park with your mummy.

Being and wellness

2011-03-14T14:20:00.022-04:00

We visited the library, Molly and I, last week. I was able to see marked changes in her social development. Whereas she used to tell everyone that she was "unavailable" to play with them—even issuing directives through me in advance of social activities—she now plays easily, comfortably, with others.

She does insist that she doesn't often like other children very much but concedes that playing with some of them can be fun. She refuses to designate someone a friend unless she, among other things, clearly knows and likes the person, but she will not necessarily turn someone away from play now in the absence of her strict criteria. She may not make eye contact but we know that she can and will do so. She is also quite, er, given to leadership and has the strength of her convictions, too.

In conversation, for example, with a clerk in the children's section, this was amply demonstrated as he was just about to get rid of an empty tissue box.

"What are you going to do with that?" she asked, as she walked over to him.

"This? I was just going to recycle it."

"You shouldn't do that. You don't need to do that. You should reuse it first."

"Uh, really?" He cast a glance at me. "What should I do with it?"

"Well, you could put it on your desk right here on the corner or there," she pointed, "and put things in it."

"Yes," he conceded. "That's a good idea."

"You could also hang it on the wall for decoration."

"That's true. Wow, you have a good imagination."

"That's not imagination," she asserted, her brows furrowing to create an expression that, I swear, I first observed in the hospital nursery almost four years ago.

"I mean that you have a good imagination to come up with those ideas."

"That's not imagination," she persisted. "Those are facts."

He raised his eyebrows, looked at me, and I shrugged my shoulders. What could I say?

But as happy as I am that Molly is developing socially—at least, she isn't holding up her hand as she has for the past two years and stating, "I'm not available" as often—there is a discerning guardedness about her, a fearlessness as well as an enviable certitude that remains, and which makes her the little girl that I know.

While being able to watch her interact with others is always enjoyable and interesting to me and the library seems to be one of the best ways in which to do this, there is always a worry that I have when I'm there and as I'm leaving: germs. For no matter how many times I wipe hands and toys, my children usually end up with a cold within a week.

Predictably, then, Molly became ill last week with what I think is the 'flu—not gastroenteritis, but actual, flat-on-your-back influenza. I've suffered from a true, diagnosed case maybe once in my adult life and the aches, lethargy, difficulty breathing, etc. are not easily described (my new grasp of medical terminology notwithstanding). I watched Molly as she lay listlessly, eyes sunken, with a high fever and a cough that caused scream-like cries of distress each time it occurred.

Gone was the "say this! say that!" kind of, er, leadership. Gone, too, were the thirst for knowledge and firm resolutions; no furrowed brows, no "reporting". This absence of "Mollyness" disturbed me as much as the physical symptoms and signs of the 'flu.

So, last night, after almost a week of worry and sleeplessness, I had an inkling that things were finally changing for the better: her fever was disappearing; there had been only one wakeful period during which she irrationally insisted that I fetch her a juice box (and not that of the ordinary, plastic-container-bound variety), set it on the bedside table, and then she steadfastly refused to drink it. Were her leadership tendencies returning? I wondered.

Today, however, I absolutely knew that she was on the mend when (1) she insisted on "the perfect outfit" of her choosing; (2) she ~~decided on~~ asked me for her favourite snack of boiled eggs and apple; (3) she requested 15 books be read to her before 10:00 a.m., and (4) I walked into the living room and found her curled up beside the library bin like this:

She's coughing, doesn't look like her old self yet, but, at least, she's starting to behave as she usually does. I have to wonder, as the world of medicine becomes less mysterious to me, to what degree is the absence of what we recognize in our children, and in our loved ones in general, part of the actual fear and ordeal of illness? But, as I close this very paragraph, a book lands on my keyboard and Molly says, "Read that!" and I realize that I'll have to muse about this later.

It ain't nothin' . . .

2011-03-08T00:39:00.003-05:00

I'm pleased to announce that Devyn spent most of Family Day weekend with her head in a book. I wondered if that was ever going to happen because she seemed uninterested in reading on her own beyond leafing through works of nonfiction (and, yes, books of the Star Wars franchise). That particular weekend marked a change in Devyn's relationship to books.

As glad as I am that Devyn's appreciation of reading has deepened, and that I can pinpoint a dot on a graph and say where and when it happened, I'm disappointed that it's the Junie B. Jones series that she has chosen. (Coincidentally, I'd been searching earnestly for a series that might be a good fit for her and I think I found one, but more about that later).

Why the distaste? Junie B.'s command of English grammar is awful. It's not to say that I'm incredulous of a six-year-old actually speaking or writing without knowing or using every rule of grammar; it's just that Junie B.'s language seems unbelievably poor. I've tried to recall Devyn's use of language at this time last year; except for the use of "good" in place of "well" at times and a tendency to use adjectives in place of adverbs in general, Devyn (and her friends) spoke as if they grasped most of the rules. (Ironically, I objected very strongly to the clipped, precise, use of language in the dialogue of Beezus and Ramona, which Devyn and I read a few months ago).

At any rate, issues of suspending disbelief aside, my just-more-than-slight concern with the series has been that my daughter would get the message that it's fine to speak like Junie because it's funny or because it seems like a viable alternative to what Devyn has learnt to this point . So, I've been hoping that Devyn -- who is bright and clever and has a good sense of humour -- would find Junie B.'s manner of speaking funny but unacceptable.

Wouldn't you know! During the time -- long ago -- when I'd started this post, as luck would have it, Devyn bounced into the room and I had to take the opportunity to ask her:

-- So, what do you think of the Junie B. book? I see you've been reading it.

-- I really like it.

-- What do you like about it?

-- I like her dictionary; it's black. I like the pictures. I like the glasses. I like the writing, too. I think it's great, even better than mine. [Ed. By writing, I'm pretty sure she means the child-like printed text of Junie's diary.]

-- What do you think of the language?

-- What do you mean?

-- Do you think that she uses words properly?

-- No, not at all!

Here, fortunately, she laughed while furrowing her brows (which seemed to mean "As IF!") and I could breathe again because, in fact, she did find the character's use of grammar funny and unacceptable.

Then she skipped out of the room trying to decide how to wear her bangs the next day as I shook my head and smiled. I'd worried for nothing. As she was leaving, I looked at her pigtails -- at the back of her head, not at the sides, and lower down her head, too -- and I realized how much more mature she seems these days.

Each stage of the girls' lives, though predictable as developmentally-appropriate achievements, is unique and brings with it a refreshing newness that I sense in nuanced behaviour: it promises greater, unforeseeable things and delivers self-knowledge on my part as well as excitement about the future. I love the small but greatly significant changes that I see in Devyn. I love the surprises like the one just described. That one just made my day.

Aliens have invaded my house!

2011-02-05T20:24:00.000-05:00

Molly loves the idea of outer space and all that our ideas and images of it in popular culture and science entail: stars, planets, aliens, and rocket ships . . . She has even, over the past year, discussed her notion of an afterlife (though why or how she was thinking about what happens after death is beyond me): we are all going to end up in outer space at some terminal point. There's even such a thing as a baby planet, she tells me.

Just a few days ago, out of the blue, she informed me that it's perfectly safe to go to outer space, to ride in a rocket ship, without your mother. I agreed.

Still, I was surprised a few weeks earlier when I thought I could hear Keith reading aloud and, when I peeked around the corner, there he was, cuddled up with both girls, in his office. He was reading, My Teacher Is An Alien by Bruce Coville. So, she had succeeded! I concluded. Such interest and determination! Molly had finally convinced someone to read that book to her because she realized that I had been stalling.

I did indeed stall on more than one occasion by asking her to tell me what she thought the book was about, what do the (few, black-and-white) pictures mean, etc. and then proposing some really exciting activity that could have us leave the book until another time. I hadn't fooled her. I just didn't think the book was appropriate for her yet I've always had a pretty liberal stance in that regard. The target audience was 9-12 year. It pushed the limits of my own belief that books shouldn't be off-limits.

As she and Devyn were both enjoying it nightly, calling repeatedly for "just one more chapter", I saw no reason to intervene or to object. But I was still a little uncomfortable.

Fast forward to last week's Friday movie night. Aliens in the Attic was the decision but I immediately grew uncomfortable with the idea. This state was only exacerbated by almost everything said and done in the film up to the point that I, finally, convinced Molly to come upstairs with me. I was drawing a line.

"Come on, Molly. This movie's not for you. Let's go upstairs."

"It's fine. I'm OK."

"Molly, I'm telling you that the movie's not appropriate. I'll read a story and we'll cuddle."

"No, Mummy. The movie is just fine. Please, stop."

"Molly, the movie is NOT fine. There is violence and . . ."

"It's not violent. I'm going to be OK."

"There's a gun!"

"It's a paintgun!"

"But it is for shooting with, so it's a weapon of violence."

"It just shoots orange stuff on somebody and it doesn't even hurt. It's not a REAL gun."

"Molly, I'm not comfortable with you watching this and I've made my decision."

"Here," she says, getting to a standing position on the sofa. "Maybe if I cuddle in your lap, you'll feel better."

I'm holding her at this point.

"I get to make these decisions because you're only three," I speak into her copious hair.

"I'm not three! I am 3 and 3/4's!"

Well, folks. I did win. It wasn't lost on me that, if she could argue so well, she would probably have been just fine watching the movie. Grey areas. Gotta love 'em.

The Pearls of a Good Book - 1

2011-02-03T14:38:00.022-05:00

Your kids will comfort you.

Molly's going to help me feel better today . . .

She's going to read Corduroy Goes To the Library and it will make me feel better.

Happy Family Literacy Day!

2011-01-27T08:56:00.001-05:00

Today, Devyn left for school dressed as her favourite character -- the cute kid from "I Like Myself" by Karen Beaumont.

Sic vita est

2010-11-02T22:15:00.028-04:00

Time flies. With three children in the house and two courses on the go, my reading has lapsed. This isn't to say that I haven't read; in fact, considering everything, I've probably done pretty well. Mostly, I've picked up titles that I could read in a very short time and postponed longer titles for the not-too-distant future.

In spite of myself, I did read Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years. Sue Townsend could leave the series here and not feel guilty about it. He's grown; hell, he's old (40ish, like me) and we've seen him mature and/or resign to his lot in life. It is a rather bleak tale without as much of the humour as I've come to expect from the series. At any rate, I think he and I will part ways here. Really, it's over. I'm not going back. And, truthfully, I think it's him, not me.

Graphic novels are a great sanctuary for me -- especially those in the memoir or journalistic vein -- and I surprised myself this week by reading Nylon Road by Parsua Bashi. Why surprised? Because it -- the graphic novelization as much as the subject itself -- is not exactly a new idea: a journey from girlhood to womanhood during Iran's revolution. But it was fresh and original and, of course, inevitably linked in my mind to Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis series from frame to frame.

Three days ago, I read 9/11 Emergency Relief, a graphic novel anthology compiled in aid of the American Red Cross. I'd picked it up used for about five dollars at my favourite comic/graphic novel store last summer because I thought it would be an interesting read. It ended up being a surprising array of talent and an excellent opportunity to sample the graphic wares of dozens of artists/writers. (I've burrowed through quite a few graphic novels over the years and I'm always impressed by the originality of the inking, colouring, and lettering styles of each artist.)

The day before yesterday, it was Rutu Modan's Exit Wounds. I think I understand why it was received with such critical acclaim. The story -- both mystery and romance, set in Tel Aviv -- is very moving and it flows seamlessly. I loved the plot twists. This g-novel won the 2008 Eisner Award. (I really enjoyed her graphic blogging, Mixed Emotions, on The New York Times website in 2007). The next stop for me where this author is concerned is Jamilti -- I almost finished it, several times. It's not that I'm not interested; I just keep putting it aside right next to Asterios Polyp by David Mazzucchelli.

Last night, I sped through Clubbing (Andi Watson/Josh Howard) -- 176 pages -- a graphic novel for the Young Adult audience. There isn't much to say about it: breezy, brief, and enjoyable.

And I have no idea where I'm headed next.

I have never let my schooling interfere with my education . . .

2010-09-19T21:16:00.000-04:00

Well, except maybe for the past two weeks or so.

After school starting (for both myself and Devyn) and family emergencies, reading became too difficult this month. Not that I haven't tried. I wanted to try. It's just that, in a tiny compartment of my brain that stores possibly-useful superstitions, I interpreted the fact that I'd misplaced my book as a sign that I should just stop trying for the time being.

Well, now school progresses smoothly (for both myself and Devyn), the family emergencies have diminished in intensity, and, alas, I have found my book: Paramedic to the Prince.

Where's my booklight . . .

And the winner is . . .

2010-08-26T00:06:00.003-04:00

Pippi Longstocking.

Having finished Mary Poppins -- and enjoying the solitude afforded me by my weekly babysitter for Molly -- I intrepidly approached the basement stairs a few Wednesdays ago. At the bottom lay one of dozens of bins containing children's books and I had the enjoyable yet daunting task of selecting a range of books from which Devyn (mostly) would choose our next read. My pile included:

Pippi Longstocking
Beezus and Ramona
The Prince and the Pauper
The Littles

So, as I sorted through the now dusty lot, it occurred to me that I hadn't read many of the classics in grade school. Why not? Why weren't they in the curriculum from year to year? They were available in the school libraries and we could discover them or be directed to them occasionally; but they weren't emphasized in my primary classes.

Just as importantly, why weren't the classics read to us on a regular basis? Etched into my brain somewhere is an image of myself as a grade one student sitting cross-legged in the library while listening to the outrageous behaviour of the Herdman children in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever (Barbara Robinson). I later revisited that book over and over again (though I sometimes mistakenly remember it as The Worst Christmas Pageant Ever, and, if you've ever read it, you'll know why). Only a couple of other periods of being read to in school -- once in grade five, another in grade ten -- really stand out. I want my children to end up with more memories than I have in this regard.

I want to foster an appreciation of reading but I also want to give the girls a literary foundation before they enter secondary school. It doesn't have to take the fun out of reading; fun is built into the experience: Devyn speaks about and looks forward to our reading sessions before bed; the end of one book promises the beginning (and selection) of another; we spend one-on-one time together which is very special to us.

What I really like is the idea that, over the years, story after story, the girls will recognize that books tend to "speak" to one another long after they're read: associations arise, alternative interpretations occur to us, light shines on areas that we hadn't noticed before. I've found that while reading Middle Eastern/South Asian literature, The Arabian Nights (and all the variations of the title) has been of great value to me.

And doesn't narrative just seem to work its way into our lives? How much of our reading to this point in our lives is affected by our early exposure to, for example, Alice in Wonderland? The expressions in popular culture that derive from this story abound. (I fondly recall that the parallels between Homer's Odyssey and the Star Wars phenomenon, as well as other cultural events, was a favourite topic of one my late professors.) I hope that this endeavour of mine to ensure that the girls inherit many of the classics enriches their lives as adults.

In general, and not that Dora doesn't have her place, I want the girls to have more sources of cultural information in addition to what they receive via media, school, and peers. Clearly, I can't control the messages that they receive through media and peer exposure (though I firmly believe even stemming the flow and limiting sources is possible and that it helps), but I can exchange one channel of information for another and mitigate the influences. So, this summer, but for a few isolated events, I turned off the television and introduced Devyn to another form of entertainment that went beyond the few minutes of bedtime stories that children expect; and, we often read for hours because we just can't wait to find out what happens in the next chapter . . .

So, my resolve strengthened, I realized, after carrying my little pile of books upstairs: Devyn and I (and later, Molly and I) would read the classics of children's literature; not exclusively, not consecutively, but consistently.

So, Pippi. One of my favourite childhood characters. I actually remembered little of her except the lopsided braids. How appropriate, considering the time of year, that, tomorrow, Pippi goes to school.

__

Astrid Lindgren - Official site (English)
Astrid Lindgren - Wikipedia
Pippi Longstocking

Astrid Lindgren's World

Damage control . . .

2010-08-09T14:06:00.000-04:00

I'm reading a magazine right now. (It's a Royal Conservatory of Music concert brochure.)

That's good, Molly.

Is this a big girl book?

Yes. But I'm not a big fan of telling you what you can or can't read. If you like it, that's good.

Grandma says little girls should read books for little girls.

Yes, well, as I told you yesterday, Grandma knows some things but I know more.

Mary, Mary . . .

2010-08-08T21:59:00.000-04:00

Despite time constraints, Devyn and I have almost finished Mary Poppins.

The omniscient third-person narration is divided into chapter-sectioned anecdotes. She's a woman who has access to the unwritten laws of the world; she really does know more than the average nanny and more than the average person; she is exciting, if not a little intimidating, to be around.

In her presence, animals and infants can speak with each other; actual journeys into pictures occur where imagination is tangible; relationships that require little conventional conversation transpire.

She may be an efficient nanny but Mary P. is also arrogant and possesses a sharp tongue. This surprised me. I think we'll have to watch the movie this week once we've actually finished the novel.

And so we've decided . . .

2010-07-13T21:12:00.000-04:00

As soon as the shape was inside the gate the wind seemed to catch her up into the air and fling her at the house. It was as though it had flung her first at the gate, waited for her to open it, and then had lifted and thrown her, bag and all, at the front door. The watching children heard a terrific bang, and as she landed the whole house shook.

Devyn loved the magic of Mary Poppins once she realized that the woman could slide up railings and pull endless items out of an ostensibly empty bag.

What enhanced my experience of the reading was that we have a particularly old copy of the book.Plus, serendipity being what it is, I found a packet of Certs (original flavour) just as I was about to read and gladly allowed her to have her first one.

She cuddled me, watched me as I read, closed her eyes and allowed herself to be drawn into the narrative.

But today wasn't about Mary Poppins until the end. Before this, as Devyn attended a pottery day camp at the local art school, Molly and I headed to the library. There, she pulled book after book for me to read; in all, there were 19 books most of which were pretty short. Her selections aren't always so short but today I was pretty grateful that they were and, thankfully, as I grew tired, she decided to play and didn't choose a 20th title.

I thought it funny that people commented on the number of books that Molly wanted me to read to her since the place was crowded with children and parents participating in some sort of read-for-prizes club. But it might have been the rapid-fire pace with which the process of choosing, sitting, and reading, took place that drew attention to us.

At any rate, I declined to participate in the reading club this year, not knowing if I would actually have to list each book then and there and have Molly recount all 19 stories. She gladly would have done it but it was, as I say, crowded, noisy, and chaotic to the degree that even Molly remarked on this and asked if we could leave.

Jon, Flora and the Odd-Eyed Cat by Stella Pevsner

2010-07-12T13:56:00.001-04:00

Devyn and I love reading novels together. Last night, we finished Jon, Flora and the Odd-Eyed Cat.

I loved reading with Devyn. The book itself was disappointing, especially the end.

But Devyn loved it. I recall that, as we were selecting a book to read from one of our bins, she wanted to read it because she adored the cover. She now thinks it is the most interesting story she's ever read. She especially enjoyed the variety of characters. She wishes she herself could be Flora.

I've proposed reading Mary Poppins next but Devyn would like to examine our options before agreeing. Fair enough.

Time flies

2010-07-08T10:45:00.002-04:00

I happened upon an online journal entry from almost three-years-ago to the day.

The growth of my girls - July 9, 2007

"I didn't want to have my face painted today."

"No?"

"No. I was scared."

"Oh, I can see how that might be scary."

"Nobody else, just me."

"Nobody else was scared?"

"No."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Sad."

Devyn's aware of herself in the context of others. She compares herself to others.

She's also shot up another two inches in the last couple of months. She has a tiny waist, so her pants are long enough but she needs to wear a belt. (It's surprisingly difficult to find a belt for a preschooler.)

At her last Well Baby appointment (June 29th), Molly was 10lbs 8oz (I won a bet with K about how much she weighed) and 23 inches long. Funny, we didn't know how long she was at birth because that measurement isn't routinely sought.

We've had a difficult month, I'd say. Devyn's feelings about having a sibling aren't always positive and this is to be expected.

She's told me that she's disappointed that I can't spend as much time with her, so I spend as much as I can.

She's told her father that she doesn't always like being a big sister.

She's asked if we have to take Molly along on drives, etc. One day last week or so, while at the kitchen table, she asked:

"Why do we have to have Molly?"

"Because she's part of the family," I struggled. Begging the question, I know.

"Why was she born?"

So, she's struggling with big questions, too.

This might explain why, a couple of weeks before her 4th birthday, she is extraordinarily defiant, argumentative and generally difficult. This makes for long days.

One funny expression lately: when asked if she's ready, Devyn will say, "Ready as a liver bee!"

At least, Molly sleeps through the night. The breastfeeding clinic told me a few times that she's too young to miss feedings and that she needs to be awakened in the middle of the night. Everyone else, including my family doctor, told me to allow her to sleep and that demand-feeding is perfectly fine at this age (10 weeks). I've stopped going to the clinic.

We're continually amazed by Molly, just as we have been amazed by Devyn. She's started kicking and making sounds other than crying. She smiles easily and raises her arms up and down quickly when she's pleased with her toys, etc. She kicks now, lifts her head (but she has since the first week) and always has a pacifier in her mouth.

She's so calm, never cries anymore unless we let her go beyond the hand-sucking stage of hunger. Colic only lasted a few weeks.

Finally, my concentration has returned and I finished reading the first book since becoming pregnant (I'd been averaging about one per week prior to pregnancy) on July 7th.

Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I haven't collected my thoughts about this coming-of-age story set in a strife-ridden Nigeria. I do know that it made me long for some fiction by Uwem Akpan.

Pregnancy -- and then sleep-deprivation -- really affected my concentration and made reading impossible. Considering thatI was on bedrest for much of the latter part, this was a problem.

Devyn is now very comfortable with being a sister and they're usually the best of friends.

What a pleasant surprise it has been to look back!

It's always Social Media Day . . .

2010-07-01T12:02:00.000-04:00

On one of many trips into/out of my office this morning, the almost-seven-year-old says:

"Hey, Mum, is that picture on Facebook?"

"Yeh, it . . . Hey, how do you know about Facebook?"

"Well, I can READ. And, besides, everyone knows about Facebook . . . Does this mean everyone in the WORLD is going to see my picture?"

QED

Review: The Breakwater House

2010-06-16T08:01:00.000-04:00

A while back -- in December -- I won an ARC from Anansi Review Crew (House of Anansi): Pascale Quiviger's The Breakwater House. I only just thought to check the website to see my review (February)posted and it's there. This is how behind I am on the List of Things to Follow Up.

(It's funny because, more recently, in March, I tweeted a review to CBC (140 characters) of this book and won a copy of The Present Tense of Prinny Murphy by Jill MacLean. This, in turn, led me to tweet a review of another book -- can't remember which -- and I won a copy of Edith's War by Andrew Smith.)

I enjoyed reviewing The Breakwater House for several reasons but I'll have to add the elaboration to my List of Things to Follow Up.

OK, she can watch TV

2010-06-15T11:47:00.000-04:00

I'm just about to walk down the stairs when I hear a bang: something has hit the floor outside the girls' room. Molly appears.

"They DO roll, Mummy. Rocks roll. That's what they do."

"Really?"

"Yes. Taury from Dinoworld says 'Rocks don't roll'."

"And what do you think?"

"They DO roll."

Molly's Lexicon, Age 3 years + 3 weeks+

2010-05-19T19:30:00.001-04:00

Validator

noun. a vehicle that takes you where you want to go and which makes you feel good.

"I took the validator but I didn't get trapped inside."

Me: Why do you call it a validator? You know it's an elevator.

Molly: (giggling) I just love that word SO MUCH!

So, we aren't allowed to use the word 'elevator' around here. Ever.

Mother's Day

2010-05-12T13:59:00.000-04:00

Ah, well, it hasn't yet arrived but I know Paramedic to the Prince: An American Paramedic's Account of Life Inside the Mysterious World of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is on its way.

I'm really looking forward to it.

Bob Marley and Ballet

2010-05-10T00:04:00.001-04:00

It’s a typical Saturday: Keith has already taken Molly for her short ballet and music classes; Devyn and I have done music theory homework and practice. Now, we’re on our way to the school again for the other half of the day.

It’s a pleasant, relaxed drive. Bob Marley is playing loudly – Devyn is singing along to her favourite song, Buffalo Soldier.

-- Where does he live?

-- Who?

-- Bob Marley.

-- Well, he’s not alive anymore, but he used to live in Jamaica.

-- Where’s that?

-- It’s a country in the Caribbean, an area like where Granddad and Papa come from, like Barbados and Trinidad. We should go there sometime and learn about the culture.

-- He’s dead? When did he die?

-- Yeh, he died when I was a little girl, around 11.

-- How did you know he died?

-- My mum, Nana, came home from work and told me. She said Jamaica was mourning. There’s a day now to celebrate him, called Bob Marley Day. People want to remember what he did for his country, for music, for people . . .

We’ve parked the car in the rear lot of the school and we’re now walking ahead of Keith and Molly. It’s cold; I hold her closely as we walk.

-- How did he die?

-- Uh, he died of cancer.

-- What kind of cancer was it? Was it in his arm, his leg, his head . . . ?

-- It was in his lungs. He had lung cancer.

I adjust the bag on my shoulder. I see the double doors of the reclaimed Victorian building; I hate these doors. There’s nothing wrong with them but traffic flows both ways and it’s uncontrolled. On top of that, I always have to maneuver a headstrong three-year-old up the side of the stairs that I’m on and keep her from darting up the other side where a quickly opened door would send her flying backwards down the steps. All this and carry all the bags; but, at this moment, Keith has Molly and I don’t think they’re very near us.

As I walk up the steps, I hear the voices of several parents trying to speak to the school’s administrator or trying to prepare them for lessons or trying to get them to listen. Devyn’s voice, at times strong and full of confidence, is so quiet or, at least, it’s lost in the bustle of Saturday-morning craziness.

-- How did Bob Marley get lung cancer?

-- Huh? Oh, he smoked.

-- Smoked? That’s awful. How much did he smoke?

-- He smoked A LOT.

A mother walking past hears us. She looks at me and we both laugh. There’s the sense that she and I are both aware of what I’m not saying, that the legendary Bob Marley smoked pot. Thankfully, I don’t have to have that conversation today!

-- Come on, luv. Let’s go.

She’s walking ahead of me, my hand on the back of her blue leotard. I can see her bun. I watch her bounce confidently down the stairs – she has taken ballet classes here since she was newly three years old. She's almost seven.

I have images of her as a teenager. Maybe she’s tall and wearing jeans with colourful Converse sneakers. Maybe I’ve allowed her to have dreads. Maybe she plays bass in a reggae band. Maybe she knows traditional Jamaican dancing.

-- Mum! Mum!

Ten years might fly by. But she’s calling me. She’s calling me at this moment because she can't wait to get to her ballet class.

-- Come on!

-- OK, go on. I’m right behind you.

Molly's Lexicon, Age 3 years + 2 weeks

2010-05-08T20:46:00.004-04:00

Polka dot ear-ness:

Acute condition of unknown etiology. Characterized by tears and sudden need for attention, relapses and remits in direct relationship to presence/absence of older sibling receiving attention. Refractory to treatment that does not include the application of ice.

"I have polka dot earness."

Ghosts and Lightning - Trevor Byrne

2010-05-06T23:08:00.002-04:00

Sisyphus by Titian, 1549

I needed to finish Ghosts and Lightning by Trevor Byrne. When I began reading it, I found it so easy to set it aside in favour of another and I did so several times. (I think there’s something to be said about a book to which you can so easily return after long absences.)

Set in Dublin, modern day, the first-person narrative of the life of a twenty-something man is disturbing and sad. Denny Cullen wallows: drugs, alcohol, and unemployment; violence, bigotry, and death; suicide, loneliness, and poverty as well as filth and grief. But this isn’t dystopia; it's simply an ugly reality.

This man needs a change. In fact, each character in the novel, to varying degrees of awareness, needs change. Only Pajo, a longstanding friend of the narrator, seems positive about his situation. At least, he isn’t as despondent as Denny and his relentless pursuit of the religious experience counterbalances Denny’s godlessness.

Not surprisingly, Pajo both annoys and inspires awe in his friend:

He’s mad into this kind o thing; life after death, ghosts, yetis, any and all religions. Basically, anythin there’s fuck all proof for, Pajo’ll believe it. Almost like he’s definin himself against the world in some way.

I think Pajo’s belief-seeking faith provides him with a certitude that Denny does respect even if he doesn’t believe that he could have it for himself.

Denny, in contrast, finds little by way of supernatural motivation or guidance and certainly no comfort. When we consider the appearance of a stuttering priest at a funeral (his message makes no sense to our narrator) and the fact that Pajo’s relentless, religious optimism bothers Denny, then we are as certain as he that nobody’s god will scoop him up to safety, either.

And Denny often muses, unpretentiously, about the nature of stories and the function of narrative in our lives. Mostly, there’s the sense that stories and their sources are to be questioned but the possibility that some stories ring true objectively – ghosts, gods? -- is never entirely discounted, either.

But it seems to me that narrative in itself is a transcendent experience and individual story might be a form of mysticism or mystical experience. I don’t know if Trevor Byrne agrees, but when Denny explains:

Stories though, man. The way they work on yeh. They’re a kind of spell, aren’t they? Or a prayer, maybe, some o them. An article of faith. How the fuck else can yeh make sense o things, like?

It sounds like transcendence to me.

Conversations about fairies, banshees, and the wee folk abound as do the legends of pre-Christian Ireland in Cúchulainn and Finn MacCumhail (McCool); Buddhism and Catholicism are also dominant. I love the appearance of so many kinds of stories. In addition to the above Irish and specifically religious ones, gossip, drinking tales, jokes and even Jack Frost, appear. And, as Denny says, “Stories don’t ever actually end, do they? They go on.”

But there is the sense that the author wants us to examine our tales in a philosophical context. We need stories – and Denny says so -- but why?

It’s not just all fuckin . . . like . . . evolution or wharrever. Cells and impulses. There’s got to be stories as well. This happened and then this happened and then this happened. And it all meant this. It all meant this.

The stories in our lives – those told to ourselves, to others and those that just seem to have followed us all our lives – give life meaning which, our narrator seems to sense, is otherwise lacking.

We find, consequently, strong themes: personal responsibility, action, the necessity of defining ourselves and isolation. We decide which stories make the most sense to us as well as who – and where -- we want to be; and we decide that we are, ultimately, alone in determining these things.

The novel’s messages call to mind Sartre and Camus and make me want to revisit Being and Nothingness and Myth of Sisyphus, respectively, as two decades have lapsed since I last read these. They also remind me of Rawi Hage’s De Niro’s Game which I read at the end of 2009 (in which Camus’s work actually explicitly appears).

I love this novel but love it in retrospect. I strongly suspect that there’s so much more to it that I haven’t here mentioned or even considered yet. I think it bears thinking about for some time.

There's seamlessness and everything hangs together so well that I have to admire the final product even if it isn't exactly what I wanted. In fact, there isn't anything about the characters that I could not believe: The strength of Denny's own voice is unwavering throughout and each character eventually confronts the future and the question of personal responsibility in his own way.

And French settles around us . . .

2010-05-04T14:25:00.000-04:00

My just-turned-three Molly sits at the top of the stairs with a small keyboard:

"Happy Birthday à toi! . . . Happy Birthday à toi!"

David, Goliath and Molly (Age 3)

2010-05-03T10:17:00.002-04:00

Molly, this morning, announces that she wants to look at science books. I explain that the book nearest us is about art. It's called The Art Book and we inherited it from Uncle Walt a few weeks ago.

She flips deliberately through the pages until she lights upon Castagno's The Young David which has a picture of Goliath's head lying beneath the legs of a victorious David.

"Why is the man in the mud?"

I try a number of explanations avoiding certain words until I find one that's most comfortable to me: Goliath was a monster and David was a hero for confronting the monster. I honestly consider giving her the details and using the conventional words to describe what happens in the story but it seems too soon, too harsh.

"Why was David a hero?"
"Why was Goliath a monster?"
"Why is he in the mud?"

Then, I manage, for the moment, to divert her to other pages but she wants to return to The Young David. She likes Mary Cassatt's Woman Sewing in a Garden. She loves Cezanne's La Montagne Saint Victoire Barnes and traces a mountain with her finger as she describes climbing up and then down it and I can't help but wonder if she'll love art as she grows.

I love these moments together and our mornings and Molly's learning. She directs me and asks me and wants me to know things so that I can teach her. I know nothing about art history or art but I learn. I learn for her.

Molly lives through pictures and I have an image of her sitting in her stroller at about 7 or 8 months and for the first time purposely turning back through pages in a book to revisit something she liked. Here, too, she is taking in each detail with equal significance: the green hills, the brown mud, the wavy lines, the sky that could hold a rainbow like the one she saw at her grandmother's house a few weeks ago.

The sun lights up the dining room, exposing motes of dust, and warms the room. The pages are warming, too. I look up from the book for a moment. Across the table, the keys on Devyn's laptop are hot -- she told me so earlier. Behind this, windows bear evidence of little hands. Through these, I see a dozen or more old-looking balloons on the floor of the porch, left over from Molly's birthday celebrations last week.

Everything today reminds me that Molly is growing up. We move on to the living room.

"Here," she says, handing me a CD cover of Prokofiev's Romeo & Juliet. "Why is he lying on the stairs?"

I'm suddenly struck by how much attention she pays to her environment. I start to consider all of the cultural information that she could gather from this living room alone and it seems a bit overwhelming . . .

"Uh, well, Romeo & Juliet is a story about two young people who wanted to be together but their parents wouldn't allow them to be together."

"Why?"

"Well, they had their own ideas about who should be together and why." I don't know why I avoid talking about the conflict between the families. I guess I'm caught off guard.

"They were very sad," I explain, "about not being able to be together . . ."

The World of Michelangelo . . . by Molly

2010-04-21T13:04:00.000-04:00

"Here," she says, bringing me a book we'd just inherited on Michelangelo. "Read me the words."

"Uh," I manage, trying to figure out where and how I'd start.

I flip to an image of La Pieta.

"Who is that woman?"

"That's the man's mother." Carefully sidestep religion -- check!

"What's she doing?"

"She's holding her son . . . Does she look sad?"

"No."

"Does he look sad?"

"No."

"What does he look like?"

"He looks like a bunch of clay."

Nujood, divorced

2010-04-10T22:31:00.001-04:00

I am always amazed by how misleading the term Middle East is: there are vast sociocultural differences from country to country and even from region to region within the same country. The most immediately perceived common thread is the religion of Islam but it would be a mistake to draw any conclusions about a country without studying its history, political structure, geography, languages, etc.

That being said, I knew nothing of it and still know nothing about Yemen except what a little girl and her biographer, Delphine Minoui, have told me in I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced: men are the primary decision makers in family matters that pertain to the perception of honour; women are veiled and wear niqab, are not secluded but segregated according to the laws that seem to govern the protection of male honour (women appearing in public alone, men and women who are not related spending unchaperoned time together, etc.) There is abject poverty, especially in but not limited to the rural villages. Women may be educated. Child marriage is more common in the rural parts of Yemen.

Anyway, Nujood -- a ten-year-old girl in a suburb of Sana'a (Yemen's capital) whose father gives her in marriage to a man three times her age. She manages to escape her abuser and fights for a divorce through the court system. See how ridiculously simple that sounds when you read it? She pushes back against the mores and laws that govern her behaviour and she is aware that she is doing so. What she does not anticipate is the media coverage of her actions and the fallout of such.

But as a result of her bravery, other children since have sought and obtained divorces in Yemen -- and in Saudi Arabia, no less. She is one of Glamour magazine's 2008 Women of the Year recipients, alongside Hilary Clinton.

In the original CNN article of July 2008, she speaks of wanting to help raise the legal marriage age of women in Yemen. But in August 2009, in a follow-up story, Paula Newton of CNN writes of a changed Nujood:

We find her at the family's two-room house in an impoverished suburb of the city where Nujood is angry, combative and yelling. Tension surrounds the home like a noose . . .

[S]he thought the divorce would be the end of her struggle and she's still angry that it turned out to be just the beginning.

and the young girl's own words:

'There is no change at all since going on television. I hoped there was someone to help us, but we didn't find anyone to help us. It hasn't changed a thing. They said they were going to help me and no one has helped me. I wish I had never spoken to the media,' Nujood says bitterly.

I am moved by the reported change in her disposition. Disillusionment and disappointment. I feel protective as if this should be the realm of adults but it is not and, as if this is not sad enough, this month brings another story of a child bride -- also from Yemen -- and this one did not survive.

But Nujood accomplished something and I am glad that I read her story.

***

There are countless articles and reviews. Child marriage is a daunting subject that encompasses many countries. Where would you start if you wanted to learn more?

Wikipedia

Child Brides: The Problem of Early, Forced Marriage
Unicef's Innoenti Research, Italy -- Early Marriage: Child Spouses (pdf)

Glamour Magazine's Women of the Year

I've developed a list habit . .

2010-03-30T14:44:00.002-04:00

10 Awesome and Inappropriate Books for Kids

While there, scroll down to find a list of five books that would have "traumatized us as children".

(found via Flavorpill via Twitter)

The growing pains of Adrian Mole

2010-03-23T13:20:00.002-04:00

If I had known beforehand that last night would be so windy, so stormy, I would have imagined myself reading something equally as moody as the weather -- a gothic novel such as Walpole's The Castle of Otranto or, as I have intended for years, Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolfo.

But, no. There I was reading The Lost Diaries of Adrian Mole: 1999-2001 -- and I did not want to read it. The day before, I had intentionally abandoned my rule of alloting only twenty-five pages to a book for which I have developed a distaste.

Sometimes, I just cannot resist the pull of the past and the very name, Adrian Mole, takes me back to reading the The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4, the first book in the series, in 1988 or so.

A misguided teen in the middle of England, Adrian has the sense that he should have a better life but lacks the adult tools with which to build one for himself at the time. He believes that he knows what people in higher socio-economic classes do -- they read classic literature, they live in big houses with manicured lawns and they aspire to lofty professions -- but he does his homework by candlelight when the electricity is turned off in his council flat and his writing lacks the weight of actual experience. We always feel compassion for him and for his family. It is an enjoyable read with credible characters and waves of humour so frequent that respite is necessary. I am similarly disposed to the sequel, The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole.

But in the books that follow, from The Wilderness Years on, Adrian is a man and the personality traits that we find endearing while he is a teenager are neither excusable nor acceptable in his adulthood. So, while our compassion for Adrian's plight -- he cannot see the error of his ways, he cannot escape poverty, he cannot achieve his career goals -- remains, it is tempered by disdain for his personality.

There are other, more minor problems. Some of Adrian's seemingly delusional beliefs are not, well, believable. I am also uncomfortable with his awareness of Sue Townsend. When an author appears in a novel, I am upset by the intersection of the real and the fictional. It wounds my sense of justice somehow as if I feel entitled to escape reality for a while.

So, I did not enjoy the book but, strangely, the questions remain: Will I read Adrian Mole The Prostrate Years and complete (hopefully) a series because I just might enjoy the book, or because I have a vague sense of loyalty? Or will I simply say that enough is enough and revert to my twenty-five pages rule?

***

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾ (1982)

The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole (1984)

The True Confessions of Adrian Albert Mole (1989)

Adrian Mole From Minor to Major (1991) - omnibus including Adrian Mole and the Small Amphibians.

Adrian Mole: The Wilderness Years (1993)

Adrian Mole: The Cappuccino Years (1999)

Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction (2004)

The Lost Diaries of Adrian Mole, 1999-2001 (2008)

Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years (2009)

Notes / Reading

2010-03-20T11:06:00.001-04:00

I recently found a store that caters to my every need in graphic novel reading and while browsing -- one eye on the shelf, the other on Molly -- I found Baraka and Black Magic in Morocco by Rick Smith.

Because no reading list would be complete for me without its share of graphic novels, I bought it and spent much energy trying to get a chance to read it throughout the week.

But, frankly, I expected more than a mere illustration of a few weeks spent travelling. I kept thinking: What is the point? The author, travelling with his wife and a few friends that they have collected in their travels, does not really say anything other than that he and, especially, his wife, had a bad time. Perhaps the author thought that, because complaining about difficulty adjusting to cultural differences can be uncomfortable, his experiences were worth publishing. I don't know. I found the illustration confusing and, consequently, the narrative difficult to follow. I welcome any insight. Maybe there is no point other than that the trip happened.

Then, the next day, I read Waltz with Bashir: A Lebanon War Story by Ari Folman and David Polonsky -- a graphic novel based on the film of the same title. When a journey to the truth about oneself is, at least, as difficult as the events that necessitate the trip . . . It is a potent and disturbingly beautiful narrative and it can be read in an hour or so. I look forward to watching the movie.

Sunday

2010-02-08T23:47:00.001-05:00

I manage to steal a couple of hours away from everyone and go to the mall. While there, I happen upon a bargain table of books. The collection is by no means impressive but one book catches my eye. Its sole subject? The trapdoor spider.

Devyn -- who casually dines next to enshrined, dessicated insect carcasses on the breakfast table -- finds spiders and insects interesting and I want to learn for her and to connect with her and I'm going to be that mother -- the one who picks up books about spiders to feed her daughter's curiosity even when said child is not around. But, I need to be casual.

OK. So, I'm casual.

I should have taken off my jacket.

I look around slowly before I turn the page.

What's the problem, right? They're morphologically different from us and from any other creature crawling on the earth but, really, they're just different.

The red page. It has a nice green border and its photos are finely detailed and OMFG! I'm looking at a hideous creature -- an alien, repulsive, one-might-as-well-be-crawling-up-my-arm monster of a spider! Forget it -- I can't be casual. I know people hear me yelp; I drop the book and head for the exit.

But I did look, I tell myself . . . I guess that's a start.

Another library day

2010-02-02T18:57:00.001-05:00

Molly was especially busy at the library today. It was like a second workout for me. She learnt how to use the self-service book withdrawal and did so while Keith and I were talking. One second she was playing at the Thomas table and the next she was balanced on the stool at the machine, clicking "continue" and looking for her card in order to swipe the barcode. I gasped when I saw her. It really was time to go. Besides, the little children's area was filled to capacity at the end of the school day and we'd already been there for three hours.

Bing - Ted Dewan
Beach Babies Wear Shades - Michelle Sinclair Colman/illus. Nathalie Dion (x2)
A Bed Full of Cats - Holly Keller
My Very First Look at Sizes - Christiane Gunzi
Now I Eat My ABCs - Pat Abrams/illus. Bruce Wolf (x3)
Disney Bolt: My Hero - Apple Jordan
The Playground - Debbie Bailey

Both Girls
Island Counting 1,2,3 (x4)
Follow Me, Mittens - Lola M. Schaefer - Devyn on her own, too (x2)

Morning

2010-02-01T19:48:00.000-05:00

As soon as it felt like morning to me, I went into the girls' room. I hadn't spoken to them since supper the night before and the babysitter had mentioned a Molly meltdown. As usual, they were both wide awake. Devyn was pleased to announce that she had been able to comfort her sister in my absence. I climbed onto the bottom bunk and covered up to get warm.

"I missed you so so much, Mummy," Molly told me. Then, she reached over me for something.

"Well, what did you girls do last night while I was out?"

"Here," Molly said, shoving a book into my neck. "Read this."

"OK," I croaked through neck pain. "I will, but I want to know how your night was first."

"Read this! Read Olivia! I want you to read Olivia."

It wasn't just Olivia; it was Olivia Saves the Circus and probably my least favourite Ian Falconer book. I groaned inwardly.

Molly opened the book to the first page. "Please read Olivia, Mummy."

She wouldn't be deterred.

So started our day. Then came the usual requests to go to the library but we both have trouble understanding why it's closed on Mondays. Tomorrow, however, is Tuesday and I promised we'd go right after my training session.

It was great to see Devyn reading after school. Instead of becoming frustrated when encountering unknown words, she actually welcomed help from me. She was very excited about two nonfiction readers -- one about cats, the other about dogs -- that she'd signed out of the school library. We read the book on cats at bedtime. Molly, who refuses to nap during the day, was exhausted from a late night and preferred to take things apart today though we did thumb through some volcano books. She didn't even request that I spell words for her and help her print them!

Notes / A slow day

2010-01-30T20:01:00.000-05:00

Robin Hill School: First Day of School - Margaret McNamara/illus. Mike Gordon
Scarecrow - Michael Rex (x2)
Doodledog - Eric Seltzer
Tiny Goes to the Library - Cari Meister/illus. Rich Davis (x2)
Robin Hill School: Earth Day - Margaret McNamara/illus. Mike Gordon
Sam Goes To School - Mary Labatt/illus. Marisol Sarrazin
Crossing the Street
Apple Trouble! - Ragnhild Scamell/illus. Michael Terry
Bear Feels Sick - Karma Wilson/illus. Jane Chapman
The Colours of Us - Karen Katz

An Experiment

2010-01-29T19:33:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to decide how to keep track of the girls' reading. This blog is not simply about their reading but I think it ought to be included:

(1) Devyn, 6, in French Immersion, needs to read in French; but, I also wish to make sure that she can read in English as well, long before it's introduced as a subject in school. Posts about her will include both French and English titles.

(2) Throughout an average day, while Devyn's at school, I often guess at how many books Molly, 2, has requested that I read; keeping track gives me that, and other, information.

In both cases, I will be able to track developing interests and gain a deeper understanding of their personalities. I want to see exactly how much I've learnt and how much they have changed by the end of December 2010.

So, there will be posts that contain nothing but lists of books which may bore the reader to tears; but, hopefully, other posts will compensate. I won't publish the list-of-books posts to the feeds.

Notes / Molly reading

2010-01-29T09:09:00.071-05:00

We exhausted yesterday's lot from the library, so Keith dashed out to the library before it closed this evening for our weekend's stash. By 9 a.m., about half the books had been read. We slowed down as the day wore on.

Volcano! - Ellen J. Prager/illus. Nancy Woodman
Jazz Baby - Lisa Wheeler/illus. R. Gregory Christie (x2)
How's the Weather? It's Stormy! - Julie Richards
We Need Doctors - Lola M. Schaefer
I'm Going to New York to Visit the Lions - illus. Tanya Roitman
Caillou: The Shopping Trip - Nicole Nadeau/illus. Claude Lapierre
Biscuit - A. Satin Capucilli
Biscuit Takes A Walk - A. Satin Capucilli
I Want To Be A Doctor - Dan Liebman
Earthquakes - Ellen J. Prager/illus. Susan Greenstein
Grumpy Bird - Jeremy Tankard (x2)
Sesame Street: B is for Books - Annie Cobb/illus. Joe Mathieu
Our Earth - Anne Rockwell
Finding Nemo: Just Keep Swimming - Melissa Lagonegro/illus. A.P. Harchy
I'm a Caterpillar - J. Marzollo/illus. J. Moffat

Somewhere among the last three titles, the poor kid threw a tantrum because I couldn't read to her. As she has done since a young toddler, she forcefully pushed the book into my lap. When that didn't work, she tried opening my hands in order for me to grasp the book. I kept resisting, all the while gently reminding her that I would be available to read to her once I had completed something. Finally, I won and she burst into tears. Let's hope tomorrow goes more smoothly.

Devyn was sick with a stomach bug today -- having fallen ill yesterday afternoon -- and has slept most of the day as well as watched movies and played games.

Notes / Books read Molly today

2010-01-28T20:29:00.002-05:00

Biscuit Wins A Prize - A. Satin Capucilli
Biscuit's Big Friend - A. Satin Capucilli
Biscuit and the Baby - A. Satin Capucilli
What Was I Scared of? - Dr. Seuss x4
Fifteen Animals - Sandra Boynton x3

The library

Spots and Dots
Island Counting 1, 2, 3 x3
Baby Sign
Caillou at the Theatre
Caillou at a Fancy Restaurant
Ruby Bakes a Cake - Susan Hill/Margie Moore
I'm going to New York to Visit the Lions - illus. Tanya Roitman

Up next?

2010-01-18T16:37:00.001-05:00

I'm almost finished Persepolis 2 by Marjane Satrapi.

Though my reading list contains mostly Middle Eastern titles at this point, I really want to veer off course temporarily.

I looked at a copy of Jose Saramago's Death with Interruptions this afternoon. Death takes a vacation?! It seems too good to resist.

Serendipity!

2010-01-10T10:16:00.001-05:00

Back in my teen years, one of my best friends was from Lebanon. I'm not sure how it came to be that I was always at their house but my favourite memories are somehow connected to the aroma of Mrs. T's cooking. Sometimes, I was able to help prepare a meal; or, at least, pretend to help so that I could get an advance taste of the repast.

My favourite meal was dolmeh -- grape leaves stuffed with an aromatic ground meat mixture.

It just so happens that Pomegranate Soup by Marsha Mehran -- a book I'd requested for Christmas -- contains, in its prologue, the very recipe of my youth!

I'm overjoyed and I'm on a mission to find grape leaves.

Notable conversations

2010-01-09T23:10:00.000-05:00

Last night, after school, Devyn was speaking French and one word in particular was said with such perfect pronunciation that it put both Keith and I to shame as far as our French goes! It's the "r" sound that follows "par". Being around someone speaking French consistently has really helped her.

That being said, I want to make note of some conversations of the past week that either caused shock, laughter or both. Because Devyn is at school all of the day, her teacher gets to hear all the great things that Devyn has to say -- one unfortunate consequence of having your child in school full-time -- so I only have Molly's words until the summer.

**

It's getting close to the girls' bedtime and our guests are still here. We're seated around the dining room table eating delivered pizza and, somehow, the subject of monsters comes up. Devyn didn't worry about such things -- she was mostly concerned about ghosts but monsters were definitely the stuff of imagination to her.

For Molly, however, it is monsters and, recently, she has taken to hiding Poe -- a cute 'Ugly Doll' stuffed animal -- under her bed before going to sleep. (Technically, Poe is an Ugly Dragon.) During the day, it's a special stuffed toy because Keith bought it for her in NYC last year. They were all the rage.

"I don't like scary green monsters," Molly says.

"Well, there are no monsters here," we reassure her.

"Do you think that Mummy would allow monsters in the house around her children?" I seek to further reassure her.

"Yes," Keith adds. "We would never allow monsters around our children."

Molly looks confused and, without skipping a beat, points out: "But YOU bought POE."

**

On the way to the car after preschool on Thursday, I ask Molly repeatedly to hold my hand and she refuses. The last time I ask, she says,

"Don't embarrass me!"

With just four months or so to go until her birthday, I'm getting a little nervous about what "three" is going to look like!

**

Molly says - after reaching the potty, "What a minute, wait a minute! There's no toilet paper!"

Oh, the drama . . .

**

The kids have been asked to watch cartoons as Keith and I eat an early supper while preparing supper for the girls. When Molly asks if she may stay, I say 'no':

"No is not nice, Mummy. No is not nice!" Molly yells angrily at me and slams the kitchen door. A minute or so later, she is back in the kitchen, I give her some of my meal and ask her to return to the living room. She leaves. This time, as she opens the kitchen door, she turns and says, "I'm sorry for bossing you, Mummy. I'm sorry for bossing you."

**

Molly has become really fascinated by volcanoes. She speaks of them often everyday. On the way back from a doctor's appointment yesterday:

"Can we see a volcano?" She asks as always.

"Yes, we can. Well, maybe not a live volcano; maybe one that has been quiet for a long time." This is my usual answer, too.

"But I want to see a scary volcano. A volcano with molten lava."

Now, it may be time to bring out the volcano kit I bought years ago.

Molly and the Middle East

2009-12-28T20:56:00.006-05:00

I'm lying in bed with my latest book propped up against my knees. A sickly Molly is lying beside me because her illness has been concerning despite antibiotics. I'm exhausted but she's not tired.

"Molly, you need to go to sleep. I'm doing research."

She loves to "do research" with me. So, really wanting her to go to sleep, I realize I shouldn't have said this but, oh well. You can't unring a bell.

"So, tell me about that fancy pen of yours," she says, smiling up at me. It's often easy to forget that she's only two but, at this moment, the fact that she's only two has hit me. Hard.

"It's a highlighter," I explain, a sense of dread creeping up on me because I have taught her not to write in or otherwise destroy books. Could I really end up unravelling a couple of years' worth of her learning in this regard, end up changing her relationship with books?

"How does it work? How do you draw with it?"

"Well, you don't draw with it. Sometimes, in special circumstances, in special books, for special reasons like research, you use it to mark words that you want to remember."

She's really happy to learn, I think, that she may one day be able to write in books and she asks me to show her what highlighting a word actually means.

It's not a "dry" read by any means -- a memoir of travels in a Middle Eastern country -- but I can't imagine a two-year-old enjoying it or that I may be able to edit effectively as I read. But she wants me to read aloud.

"It's about a country called Iran," I tell her. "It's part of the Middle East."

"Could we travel to there?"

I pause. I don't want to tell her about visas and the difficulties one apparently encounters while trying to secure them. She is, after all, only two.

"Yes, we can one day."

She smiles and hugs me. For a moment, I imagine the two of us travelling to the far reaches of the globe together.

"We can travel there now, tho', in our imaginations. We can pretend we're there. Books help us do that. You can go all over the world by reading books."

And I start reading to her. There's really nothing obviously inappropriate in the passages I've reached thus far and, when something questionable arises, I omit it. If she notices, she doesn't let on. She listens attentively as the narrator recounts how his faith in humanity has been restored following an act of kindness by locals.

Time has stopped for a brief period. I'm no longer thinking that it doesn't feel like 8:30 at night; I no longer feel exhausted. As the story escapes my mouth and the words fall and settle between us, there's a calm sense that she and I have started something that we'll always love to do together.

Notes / A Mummy-and-Molly moment

2009-12-02T19:11:00.005-05:00

During dinner last night, I can see from the corner of my eye that Molly is trying to get out of her booster chair. She's on her stomach, her legs dangling, and she's kind of squirmy.

"What are you doing?" I ask matter-of-factly.

"Trying to get out of my chair," she says.

"How's that going?"

"Not well."

Vendredi et le week-end

2009-11-23T08:51:00.001-05:00

As I half expected, enrolling Devyn in French Immersion resulted in a hybrid language being spoken around the house -- this I was assurred is the first step towards bilingualism.

"Maman, est-ce que je peux une boire de l'eau? Thanks!"

"Combien de jours until Vendredi?"

"Mummy, quel jour is it? Vendredi?

Vendredi is very important in our house. It's Devyn's show-and-share day though the show part of the equation has pretty much been eliminated by now and she simply gets to speak of something important.

I get almost daily updates from the teacher that Devyn is speaking more freely in class, that she is doing very well, that she learns best when something new is introduced with music (e.g., a song).

I've had to re-learn and improve my French and Keith, well, he simply has never forgotten. In fact, Devyn's teacher has told me that Keith has great French. He speaks it to our child in the evenings and she has begun to respond more and more in French instead of in English. I think my French is getting better.

But, lately, Devyn's mind has simply exploded in French. She speaks without hesitation, sounds far less anglo than I do and the English components of sentences are disappearing. Her vocabulaire has grown exponentially. So, too, has her confidence.

A village tale

2009-10-25T18:57:00.005-04:00

"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a young lady, who was very poor and very sad. She lived in a village where people always laughed and danced and were very happy."

The girls stopped playing with their bath toys and looked at me.

"She was so sad because she didn't have any friends, even though she was surrounded by so many laughing and dancing people. So, she decided to go to sleep and she slept soundly. But her dreams were interrupted by a voice that spoke to her:

'You need to go out into the village, to an inn. You will know the inn. You need to dance and laugh.'

When the sad, young lady awoke, she said:

'Oh, my, I'm hungry!'

So she changed into her tattered best clothes and headed off into the village, straying a little farther than she had ever done before. For, after all that sleep, she was feeling a little brave, too. She walked until she came to an inn. She had come to THE inn.

It was dark inside but the lady could hear the voices of people making merry. She could see some people and one person in particular caught her eye.

'Surely, he is kind,' the lady said to herself, for she had no idea that he was a prince. And when they spoke, the man told her: 'You are a princess. You have a gift. Whenever you speak, your words sound like music. We must be married.'

Oh, how her heart fluttered! And then he said . . ."

"I think he chose the wrong lady," Devyn interrupted.

"What?"

"I think she's old."

Notes / Molly's reading interests

2009-10-21T17:02:00.007-04:00

Molly has never met a book she didn't like. Lately, however, she has bonded with an inexpensive encyclopedic series for older children; so, our conversations about them have caused me discomfort because she wants more information than I anticipated.

Holding a book on the human body -- which is illustrated in a colourful but standard way -- she asks me about a human figure: "What's this?" and "what's this?" she asks several times.

"Our bodies have skin, and under our skin are muscles, tendons, and bones. We call the collection and structure of the bones a skeleton," I try to explain, obviously flustered trying to keep up with her.

"I have skin and bones and muscles."

"Yes," I say, kind of relieved. I mean, she's two-and-a-half. She gets it.

"And intestines."

Huh?

"I have intestines." She rubs her abdomen.

The next book waiting for me (she's waiting for me) after I write this post is about ancient history.

As I walked into the kitchen this evening . . .

2009-10-05T18:28:00.006-04:00

"Hello, Mummy. How are you?"

"Er, hi, Molly. I'm well, thank you. How are you?"

"Good."

"You're well? That's great."

"I'm going to be three."

"Really?"

"Yes, three."

"Um, you will be three next year. You're about two-and-a-half right now."

"Yes, I will be three but Devyn won't be three."

The way we read . . .

2009-10-03T18:08:00.030-04:00

I like to think that everyone has a reading style. I also like to think that mine is of the read-and-let-read variety. So, when Devyn showed interest in reading the Junie B. series, and I got excited about it, I guess I kind of assumed that she and I shared a reading style. Not so much.

"Hey, let's read a Junie B. book," I suggested this morning.

"O.K.," she bounced up. (At least, I think she bounced because she always bounces and that's my overall impression of her.)

And I actually meant that she would read it and that I would listen which would have been just fine with her except we got stuck at the Junie B. part.

"Here, let's find the first in the series."

"I want to read this one." She held it up to me as if she was holding something very precious which, if you think about it, it really is. Anyway.

"Is that the first one in the series?" I started comparing dates of copyright.

"Uh . . ."

"No, that's not the first one. This one is. It comes before that one, anyway."

She shrugged her whole body in that way that only six-year-olds have learnt to do. I knew what she was going to say . . .

"But I want to read THIS one, not THAT one. THIS is the one I want to read."

We rallied pronouns back and forth until I got caught in the net. It was her book and, ultimately, for her benefit that we would be reading. I couldn't walk away without admitting defeat. But I wasn't happy about it.

A series. It's a series and series are meant to be read sequentially, right? Does it really matter, though, if Devyn doesn't have all the information that would be available in the first book? Wouldn't there be sufficient information, anyway, in the second or third books for her to gather impressions -- however vague -- of what has gone before?

Yes, probably. But it didn't matter, at least not while we were disagreeing.

Yet I realized that we were stepping out of the matter of personal preference and into the morass of mother-child relationships. We weren't negotiating which book would be read first; we were staking territory. This is where my parental rights in the matter ended and I was clearly encroaching. I had the sense that I should not push further despite all that I believed that I had left to teach her in this area.

But I'm not surprised. In fact, I am continually amazed by the capacity of my children to teach me about this life stuff. For example, I know this wasn't the last territorial scuffle.

Finished but not forgotten

2009-09-28T20:28:00.005-04:00

It took me approximately one uninterrupted hour to read Guy Delisle's Pyongyang: A Journey in North Korea this evening. I would love to record my thoughts but I don't have time to sort through them this evening since Joe Sacco's Palestine is already due back at the library.

Then there's the matter of having finished Meera Syal's Anita and Me last week or so and looking for my notes jotted here and there . . .

But, before I go to bed, I have to note a conversation had over the weekend with Molly about a book:

"And big kids don't need pacifiers," I say as we reach the end of the book.

"Yes," she says matter-of-factly as she removes it from my hands. "They do."

Molly's Lexicon, 27 months

2009-08-19T15:42:00.014-04:00

to bin: to insert oneself into a clear, plastic bin for fun.

She stood inside the bin (it's about 18" high) and said, "Mummy! Look at me, I'm bin-ning!"

She needed a word to describe what she was doing -- standing in the bin. Binning. I've never known it to be used to describe a game. I like it.

Notes / Reading with Devyn

2009-08-05T11:42:00.009-04:00

Devyn and I spent every spare moment reading a chapter book together yesterday: The Red Ghost. It marked a change. I've always wanted to introduce her to the ghost genre of children's books and this was the best time.

I worried that she'd be frightened, even though the target audience of The Red Ghost is six to eight or nine years. I worried that she might not be able to follow along with the plot or the subplot.

The reference to a significant period in history could have been an obstacle.

I was wrong on all counts. Instead, she surprised me. In response to my, "What did ya think?" She said, "I'm disappointed."

"Why? What didn't you like?"

"Well, why did it have to come at the end?"

"What at the end?"

"The ghost."

"Good question! Do you think it should it have appeared at the beginning?"

"No, it should have come in somewhere in the middle."

I was proud of her, of this independence of thought, of this opinion of hers that wasn't at all groundless.

The suspense just hadn't worked for her; it had annoyed her.

But, anyway, as August rolls in, I'm reminded that my time with Devyn is about to change dramatically: We won't be together everyday or every weekday that she's not in school because she'll be in school full time. From this point on, it's about Devyn gradually letting go of our time together in order to embrace new and more complex social environments.

We'll have to work harder to get in those chapter books. I already know the next title to introduce to her; the earlier title, The Blue Ghost, followed by The Secret of the Painted House. Where we'll go from there, I don't yet know.

The Red Ghost
(a Stepping Stones book)
Marion Dane Bauer
Illustrated by Peter Ferguson
Random House
April 2008
Trade Paperback

Reading-less

2009-07-26T18:57:00.025-04:00

Camping, preparing two birthday parties, having two birthday parties, in the same week left little room to read.

But I've never tried so hard -- and failed -- to read. While camping earlier in the week, I couldn't charge my Treo telephone (a problem I've had for months and which is worsening). I was fumbling in the car every chance I got, trying to make the car charger communicate through an unyielding socket. It never worked.

So, with the charge at less than 30 per cent, and once the kids were sleeping in the tent, on the last night I sat in a mesh-enclosed gazebo with the moist air heavy on my skin and in my clothes. I tried to read the last of The Hakawati but the mosquitoes had found a way in and, frankly, I felt burdened under cold clothes and under the stress of a relentless downpour.

That was my final effort because there wasn't an opportunity until this morning. On the way to Devyn's second birthday party, as promised, I read the girls a story in the car: Eloise and the Very Secret Room. OK, it wasn't from my bookshelf but this little bit of reading time made the girls so happy -- made me happy -- that it settled us all: It anchored us to a small part of our routine that was otherwise lost this week.

Ready-to-Read, Level 1 book based on the art of Hilary Knight -- Kay Thompson (Author), Ellen Weiss (Author), Tammie Lyon (Illustrator)

Notes / Reading this week

2009-07-15T11:14:00.064-04:00

Because I can't read just one book at a time, I have all these loose ends that need to be tied up. (So don't believe everything you read on a sidebar). I'm closer to finishing The Hakawati by Rabih Alameddine than I was last week.

The only problem that I have with this novel is that I can't read it casually (which degree of intensity would really suit my lifestyle). It seems as if every paragraph has embedded within it an observation, an analogy, a metaphor -- and not in an undesirable way -- that stops me in my tracks and forces me to re-examine the preceding passages. I'm not well-versed in the history of Lebanon, having to draw sometimes as much from the common cultural sense of "Middle East" (unfortunately) and from my friendship with a family that fled the troubled nation when I was very young as I draw from my past reading experiences. But maybe this isn't as much of an obstacle as I worried it could be. In May 2008, in a review in the New York Times, Lorraine Adams wrote:

If any work of fiction might be powerful enough to transcend the mountain of polemic, historical inquiry, policy analysis and reportage that stands between the Western reader and the Arab soul, it’s this wonder of a book — a book not about a jihadi but a hakawati (Arabic for storyteller). 'Listen,' Rabih Alameddine invites. 'Allow me to be your god. Let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story.'

In the beginning, rapt by details of Osama's (the narrator's) return to his country of origin, I was thirsty for images of modern Lebanon as seen through the eyes of one who had lived through harsher times there. Now, I find myself adrift between the ancient times of legend and my sense of the modern country and it doesn't bother me because the story is captivating.

I see the parallel that the author draws between the story of Hagar, Sarah, and Abraham, and the story of his grandfather's life, and I note the differences. In this way, I am at the will of Alameddine and not just because he directs my journey -- I've come under a spell of timelessness that he has deftly cast:

'The Hakawati' uses one of the oldest forms of storytelling, the frame tale. Western readers know it from 'The Canterbury Tales,' but the device precedes Chaucer by well over a thousand years, originating in Sanskrit texts known variously as the 'Panchatantra,' 'The Fables of Bidpai' or 'Tales of Kalila and Dimna.' As Doris Lessing notes in her introduction to the most recent English translation, one version of the Sanskrit framing narrative has Alexander the Great enlisting an Indian sage to reform a cruel potentate by telling him stories. In another, an Indian king uses the stories to arouse the curiosity of his three sons, whose brains have gone soft from privilege. Whatever the original frame, the history of the whole collection is a record of the cross-fertilization of cultures. Through storytelling, the conquered and the conquering can become as close as family.

I'll admit that I don't usually read reviews before reading a book (almost never), but you only stand to gain when a reviewer encapsulates an idea more succinctly and to a greater depth than you yourself could. And, again, I'm in unfamiliar territory because my exposure to Chaucer at university was scant at best. Regretfully, I can't riff on the cultural significance of story-telling through the ages, other than to surmise that mores and value systems are heritable and that the story-teller, among other things, is an agent therefor.

I'm happy just to sit right back and listen to a tale (or two) unfold because the voice is mellifluous and mesmerizing.

The numbers-driven life

2009-07-09T19:32:00.031-04:00

(Addressing reading-time deficit)

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

Oil those brains

Before they rust.

I used to have my cardio time at the gym five days a week reserved for reading. But I don't have that opportunity anymore and it occurred to me today that my life has become very numbers-driven.

Each day, I need to get 1200 calories of food over five meals. Each meal must consist of 8 grams of fat, 18 grams of protein and 24 grams of carbohydrates.

I need to walk .82 miles to and .82 miles from the gym six days a week. The girls have to be at the gym by 8:45 on four of those days.

I do High Intensity Interval Training -- sprinting at 60% my target heart rate to 90% for 45 seconds, twelve times, four times weekly, in addition to one intense spinning class. There is no room for talking or reading at this point; even picking up a dropped water bottle is out of the question.

The other two mornings, I have a personal trainer take me through a customized resistance workout which consists of sets and repetitions of exercise, usually three sets of ten reps at x-weight per exercise. Obviously, I can't read here.

Before I see my trainer, I need to have warmed up for five minutes . . .

(At home, about an hour after the gym, life is child-oriented completely and, since I usually don't have help at home during the day, reading is out of the question).

This leaves a tiny interval of about three hours (again with the numbers) in the evening to . . . clean or to type furiously on my laptop.

But, the picture is pretty clear. Amidst or among all these numbers, you'd think I could squeeze in at least ONE book?

I used to stay up very late to read but, since I began training and since I bought a nifty training application to enhance the experience, I stumble over concepts such as recovery and my app sputters warnings about over-training because I'm tired.

I do love my workouts and I do miss my reading. I've had more difficult problems than this in the past and I'm willing to concede that, on a global scale, my troubles are minuscule. Still, as trivial as it seems, what's left of my mind -- what pregnancy and two years of sleep-deprivation left of my neuron count -- still needs to be fed. It's hungry. Even if it can't process language as well as it used to because the lights have gone out in my temporal and parietal lobes and compensating parts of the brain are doing little more than an adequate job. So what. It still needs to be nourished.

Look to the right of my blog, the sidebar -- It introduces two books that I'm apparently reading. A more accurate account of my activities would be: Books have been picked up from my shelf and placed (reverently) on my nightstand; an ebook has been secured for travel reading ops.

What to do? The numbers-driven life -- is it compatible with intellectual development (or, heck, even maintenance) and spiritual fulfillment? I don't know. I think it has to be.

So, I do know one thing for certain: I will read again.

*poem J. Prelutzky - A. Nonny Mouse Writes Again! (1993)

Molly's story

2009-07-08T18:30:00.005-04:00

I don't actually have one book in which I record everything. I need to write this down:

I like the cats. I want one. A pet. Will walk him. Go to the park. I might fall.

- 26 months

Keith, if you're reading this right now: Molly wants a box like the one in the dining room. In fact, just so you won't make a mistake:

Buy one, a new one. There's a picture on it. It has a butterfly on it. It's heavy. There's another butterfly on the back. Pick it up, buy it.

News from nature . . . Again!

2009-07-06T15:11:00.004-04:00

We're sitting on the screen-enclosed porch today. It offers fresh air and shade. And chairs. And the kids can make as much mess as they want while crafting.

At any rate, I'm just about to click open my ereader copy of The Synaptic Self, when Devyn announces:

"Do you know that people use chemicals to get the honey from bees?"

"Huh?" I'm very focussed on opening a file and adjusting my computer on my lap.

"People use chemicals to make the bees sick."

"People do what? Why?" She's got my attention.

"So they can get the honey, of course!"

"But, who -- who does this?"

"The people who want to put honey in the grocery stores."

"Where did you hear about this?" I'm really shocked by her reportage. She doesn't watch much television.

"I don't know. I just know, I guess."

"How does it make you feel?"

"Sad, Mummy. Very sad."

To be honest, I don't even know if what she says is true or to what degree it might be accurate. I'll have to do some research. Each day, lately, however, brings news of some sort from the world of nature and conservancy. I admire her.

1-800-Where-Was-I

2009-07-01T16:55:00.014-04:00

I try to take advantage of spare moments to read which usually means that I have my chin on my chest and my eyes glued to my Palm Treo when I'm in the car. (Uh, when I'm the passenger).

As such, I have travel books and the most recent is the first in Meg Cabot's 1-800-Where-R-You series: When Lightning Strikes. It's grittier than I would have predicted, even in a YA context, and it reads smoothly so far.

Today, as I became more engrossed in the novel while on the way to St. Jacob's, Devyn interrupted:

"Mummy?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know that rhinoceroses are killed for their horns? Just for their horns?"

"No, I didn't know . . . How do you feel about that?" (OK, I did know but I wanted to see where she would take this conversation).

"It makes me sad."

I tried to return to my book but I didn't get much more reading done, reflecting as I was on Devyn's emerging sensitivity. A little while ago, she announced that she didn't want to "eat dead animals" -- we allow her to be a part-time vegetarian -- and she continues to process information that leads to the development of her own conscience. So, I imagine that this will be a very interesting year as she gets closer to her sixth birthday and further and further away from babyhood.

Homemaking

2009-06-25T20:56:00.011-04:00

In The Science of Homemaking (1962), we are advised to consider the following: "Now that you no longer have to make candles and soap, what part do you play in the life of your family?"

I could take a poll of my family! I've done something similar in the past -- asked Devyn what she thinks I do -- and it was fun. But, then, sometimes a poll just isn't necessary as I learned only moments ago.

--

A tiny voice surprises me in the quiet. "I love you."

I'm snuggling up to Molly, my just-turned-two toddler, as she goes to sleep; it's part of her bedtime routine. My heart jumps. What? Did she really just say what I thought she said? For the first time?

"I love you." She did. She did say it!

"I love you, too." I feel as if I'm the happiest I've ever been.

"Mummy . . . ?"

"Yes?" It's a warm-and-fuzzy, mother-and-child moment. Could this become a game of exchanging 'I love you' until we giggle? Maybe. But she seems serious.

"The house is messy."

"The house is messy?"

"Yes . . . The house is messy. Clean it up, please."

--

The Science of Homemaking - Ruth Binnie and Mary Adams (Toronto, 1962)

The Shark

2009-06-21T00:41:00.006-04:00

I've lost her. The shark died in my dining room the other day. Keith tried to revive her but she was pronounced at approximately 9:00 a.m. that morning.

From an older blog, dated August 2005:

Not My Grandmother's Iron

Before K left for work and the shops, I explained:

"I need a really, really good iron because I'm very bad at it. A proficient ironer can get away with using the cheapest iron because she knows what to do with it; I don't know what the %!& I'm doing."

He must have agreed. Leave it to him to come home with the most elaborate 'ironing system' that I've ever seen.

I've never had to read an instruction manual before using an iron until now. The little promo gadget: a recorded voice message on a black disk whose little red button (beneath the 3-D image), when pressed, boasts its 'X-tended Steam Burst' capabilities. It works vertically and horizontally. But that's not all. It features:

Intelligent electronic controls
360 degree pivot, extra long 12 ft cord
1700 watts of steam power
Electronic controls displays set and current
iron temperature
Advanced Electronic Technology Multi-Position Auto
Shut-Off, automatically turns iron off from any position
Stainless steel
soleplate for maximum glide-ability and heat retention
Anti-drip feature
cuts off water when temperature is too low
Permanent anti-calcium filter
prolongs the life of the iron
Self cleaning feature flushes the internal
soleplate with water

So, now my husband, when he leaves the home everyday, will leave in crisper clothes. He'll smile (ping!) as he dons his hat and leaves with his briefcase. I -- and my smartly-dressed child -- will follow him to the door, waving and smiling because I know the best housekeeping secret on the block: the Shark Intelligent Electronic Iron.

*first image: Household Management Illustrated (1953)
**second image

The curse of Scooby Doo

2009-05-29T23:26:00.006-04:00

This morning, Devyn asked me to read her a story. She produced a school library book and we sat on the sofa to read Shiny Spooky Knights (Scooby-Doo! Readers, Level 2) by Gail Herman (Author), Duendes Del Sur (Illustrator).

Just a few pages in:

"What's a Mummy?"

"It's the effect of a process that some ancient cultures used to preserve a person's body after death. Mummies don't come back to life."

"What's a vampire?"

"In folklore, the vampire is a person who drinks blood, has to stay out of the sun in order to survive and who doesn't die. Most people don't believe that vampires exist."

"What's a witch?"

"A witch is often depicted as an old, green woman who wears black and who stands over a pot making magic potions and who can cast spells on people using magic. But, really, a witch is someone who practices a religion called Wicca. Wiccans love the earth and nature and it's a very peaceful religion."

"What's a zombie?"

"A zombie is a dead person whose body is brought back to life under mysterious circumstances. But they don't live as people; they're scary looking. Most people don't believe they exist." (Ed. I left out the David Wade books, thinking that perhaps she has enough to think about at this point in her life.)

"Why are they chasing Shaggy and Scooby?"

"Well, because we've read this book before, we know that they are really people dressed up in costumes who want to invite Scooby and his friends to a party."

"Why do they want to invite them to a party?"

"Uh, I don't know."

The rivalry thing

2009-05-21T19:45:00.004-04:00

Me: Do you want to go to medical school and become a doctor?

Devyn: Yes.

Molly: Me, too! Me, too! Me, me, me!

Me: There's a medical school very close to us. You could go there.

Molly: Yes, Mummy. Me, Mummy. Me, me, me!

Devyn: Yes, I want to go to medical school but I don't want Molly to copy me.

Me: Well, both of you could be doctors working in separate fields. You might have different specialties or sub-subspecialties. You could be a neurosurgeon and Molly could research neuroplasticity. You could be a family doctor and Molly could be a gerontologist. You could both be doctors without being the same kind of doctor.

Devyn: I know, but I just don't want Molly to copy me.

New York

2009-04-29T08:40:00.020-04:00

My first thought: Somebody, please tell me why this graphic novel -- New York Four -- has not been made into a series?

This is pretty much the only complaint that I have about this work that features Riley Wilder, twenty-something rich kid let loose on the streets of Manhattan to attend NYU.

I read it quickly, enjoying the portrayal of a young woman's anxieties that author Brian Wood has created. Riley's first taste of freedom is tainted by conflicting family loyalties, awkwardness, but the excitement she feels is heightened by intrigue and the unknown.

We visit Japanese restaurants, comfortable apartments, and dance clubs.

Manhattan is gritty but there's not even a glimpse of the more traditional depiction of New York City streets: crime, homelessness, etc. New York is not as bad as the media would have us believe.

The setting stands in stark contrast to the book I read before this: Overheard in New York (Updated), by Morgan S. Friedman and Michael Malice, founders of the well-known blog of the same name.

Racism, toilet humour, sexual positions and preferences. Nothing is off limits. Cruelty, indifference, ignorance and thoughtlessness. Nothing is unthinkable.

Though the latter is handpicked from reality, it actually seems less believable than the fictitious angst and naivete of a young woman on her own in the big city. Hang on. Here comes the cringe-worthy cliche: Truth is stranger than fiction.

Or is it that I'm in denial, that I don't want to believe the worst of people is possible? I doubt it. Or do I want to hang on to the image that I have cultivated of a city in my dreams? More likely.

But, it's all possible. Maybe that's partly the message -- good or ill -- of both books: Anything is possible.

But the books exist in a state of tension. To believe the worst of New York in reality in Overheard, I have to believe the best of New York in fiction in New York Four.

Overheard In New York
Brian Wood

La-La-Lost in Mommyland

2009-04-09T01:30:00.031-04:00

Devyn is reading and printing and doing crafts and dancing and playing piano and playing soccer and going to the gym . . . She has changed so much in the past six months or so. She speaks a mile a minute and she truly doesn't realize that most people cannot sit down at a piano and work out a song within a minute or two. She's loving and caring and very bright.

She loves animals and trees. She wants to protect the homes of animals by having fewer trees cut down. She worries that the neighbourhood cat will bother or harm the caterpillar in the backyard. She says we could reuse little scraps of paper for writing in order to help save the trees.
Actually, she eats like a bird and she takes offence when someone uses that expression to describe her eating.
Molly. We had her tested by a speech pathologist at 19 months and her comprehension level (receptive language) was off the charts at 3.5 to 4.0 years. She then ably identified and labelled the colours purple, red, pink, orange, and blue. She identified letters and numbers, was fluent in English Sign Language. As a result, she attended special, hospital-based playgroups from 16 months until 22 months of age.

Both are girly, but Molly more so and at a much earlier age than her sister was. She dons a pink feather boa (her 'bee-ah') and a pink tutu just about everyday, carries a purple purse, and holds a doll outside the stroller as we walk in order to let her doll walk, too. When let loose in the bedroom shared with Devyn, she runs to her sister's bedside table and winds up the jewellery box in order to dance. Her movements are deliberate, deliberated, and, yet, very fluid. Drama.

At 23 months and two weeks, when she gets upset or frustrated that she isn't being understood, she will put her head in her hands, or put her hands to her head, or put her head down on the nearest surface. More drama.

I sometimes wonder if she should be taking an acting class! But, in September, she'll start ballet and piano classes just as Devyn did and as Devyn still does.

In February at 22 months, Molly started humming, then singing to, first, Ol' MacDonald Had A Farm and then to any song. She can't sleep without her light-and-sing Winnie-the-Pooh doll and her stuffed Blue and her baby Coraline. We can hear her singing and humming as she goes to sleep. If I sing and leave blanks by pausing, she will complete phrases throughout the whole of a song.

Until April, her favourite song was Itsy Bitsy Spider followed closely by Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. She signs along with singing. Now, she requests my renditions of Wheels on the Bus. A lot.

She won't fall asleep until she and I have cuddled in the rocking chair used by her father's mother to rock her father to sleep about four decades ago. I tell her about the past and the future. I tell her that she was once barely bigger than the very hand with which her father used to prop her up in order to feed her. I tell her how she is still very much my baby.

At 18 months, she could fully dress and undress herself, including outdoor clothing and I think this is because she is fiercely independent. Very, very independent. Feisty, even.

From about 7 months, she showed a strong interest in books. By a year, she was thumbing through them to get to her favourite pages. By a year-and-a-half, she was asking nonstop for a story to be read to her or for images of objects on pages to be labelled for her. I didn't want to ever deny a request for a book (she uses both the sign and the word), but how I could possibly clean, cook dinner, etc. was my biggest problem at that point.

At 23.5 months, she is often content to simply 'read' books on her own but if she sees me, she will ask me -- actually, insist -- that I join her in the playroom in order to read.

She signs quickly and fluently in ESL and speaks when she feels like it. She climbs into and onto everything. She understands everything that is said to her, follows compound instructions such as "Go here and do this and then do that . . ." She's been doing these things for many months.

Devyn is a typical older sister and the two share a relationship that stirs long-forgotten memories in me. There's less of an age difference between my girls. I love those moments when I catch sight of them having a tea party or of Devyn gently brushing an unusually-still Molly. They still argue over who gets which side of the easel. One always has a sudden need for the toy that the other has just picked up. One wants Playhouse Disney, the other wants Treehouse. What thing -- and I mean anything, everything -- one has, the other has to have by exactly the same method and in exactly the same measure. I often have seventy pounds of children on my lap, too. But they kiss and hug each other and cuddle and enjoy each other's company in general.

But gone from our home are the special Devyn-ized words such as 'lellow' and 'Plablo' and the space has been filled with increasingly complex questions such as, "What is plasma?" I've taken to writing down her questions on a pad in the living room if they require lengthier explanations than our seconds-before-our-appointment will allow. The awe behind her questions, the reverance for discovery, are aspects of her personality that I promote.

Gone, too, (mostly) are the tantrums for Devyn; it's more talking back and outright refusal than anything else though after-school meltdowns happen a couple of times a month at least. We've had those special locked-in stares that signal a struggle of wills and I've had glimpses into our future about ten years down the road.

And just as quietly as her other tantrum episodes have subsided, her sister's have sneaked up on us. Screaming, down-on-the-floor-kicking is our Molly and at these times I remember the word 'options' from the days when I only had one child full-time and could read an article or two. Yes, let the child think she's in control and she'll be happy. "Would you like to go to sleep with the light on or the light off?" instead of "It's time for bed." That kind of thing. It usually works.

I tend to speak in run-on sentences now because I don't ever know when I'll be interrupted for a snack, a story, a word of approval. Sometimes, it's very obvious that I've gone hours without speaking to another adult which, really, is fine until I catch myself using my Mommy Voice with my trainer or until I find myself enjoying calls from telemarketers.

Ah, yes. Traditionally, stay-at-home mothers of more than one child have precious few moments to devote attention to themselves: I have so much energy focussed on me that I don't realize how much of my own is being used. It takes me a while to recall when I last bathed. I'm less reliable at relaying messages and this annoys others. Getting sick is a luxury I can't indulge (unless I'm so sick that I'm flat on my back, in which case I'm not getting rest so much as I'm simply not vertical). I have a six-year-old whose social life is better than mine. When the opportunity to read appears, I'm often too tired.

But, on a recent solo overnight getaway, I received a call at around 7:30 p.m. from Devyn. She was crying; she and Molly missed me. I missed them, too.

On April 7, Molly proudly started calling us 'Mummy' and 'Daddy' instead of 'Mama' and 'Dada'.

And, really, what is my grammar or my hygiene, I ask, when I get to enjoy a pretend cup of tea poured from a singing teapot by a sweet almost-two-year-old? What is my sleep, really, when I get compliments and I-love-you(s) so often from a precious almost-six-year-old? I'm tired but I'm fortunate and happy.

CBC's Canada Reads chooses local author's book

2009-03-06T17:00:00.005-05:00

Lawrence Hill. I didn't realize that he's from Burlington.

http://www.thespec.com/News/BreakingNews/article/525243

The drama of bedtime

2009-02-28T19:55:00.015-05:00

Last night, I exceeded all of my past performances of Phoebe Gilman's Jillian Jiggs in the girls' room.

I was as animated as Jillian Jiggs herself being an impolite pirate or the pampered royalty or some loud monsters. My diction was as enviable as that of Fancy Nancy, even. I especially loved my portrayal of the hardworking and tired mother. (I think I brought something personal to that role.)

I became each role as fervently as I could because I knew something hinged upon the varying intonation of my voice, upon my ability to stay in each character: I needed the rapt attention of a nearly-two-year-old.

It's a long-ish picture book, 40 pages, intended for children between the ages of five and eight. But she sat there, on my lap, and took it all in and I like to think that it's because, right up to the end, I had captured the almost-inimitable personality of Jillian. But it might have been because she was drinking a bottle.

Anyway, the book's web introduction says that no one can keep up with Jillian Jiggs. "With boundless energy and imagination, Jillian rushes from game to game," after all. "One minute she's a robot, the next minute she's a tree." This is what I had expected of myself. This is what I thought I had given.

I closed the book with a sense of satisfaction.

"Well, how did you like my rendition?"

"It wasn't even the book I wanted," moaned Devyn.

"I think your Rachel and Peter need some work. They're like the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of Jillian Jiggs . . ." Keith began.

Imagine my hair standing straight up on my head, each curly strand morphing into one of Medusa's snakes.

"I'm not really in the mood to critique Jillian Jiggs," I huffed.

"Goodnight, girls. I love you."

I exited stage right.

___

Jillian Jiggs.

Phoebe Gilman.

Frame of reference

2009-02-27T20:56:00.005-05:00

The other day, I announced to Molly that I had to get some food for us (to make lunch). She disappeared into the playroom for a split second and returned with a block-y board book called Food.

Are we there yet?

2009-02-16T08:13:00.011-05:00

In the wee hours this morning, I realized that my interests in Middle Eastern and South Asian literature were taking me somewhere, to some place I couldn't yet see.

I don't mean this in the sense that literature is transporting me via imagination. No, that would be too easy (and, possibly, trite). My reading does take me, if you will, to India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Lebanon, Israel / Palestine, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria . . . But this, again, is not what I mean.

It seems as if I'm in the backseat of a car with a map but I can't see the driver and the windshield is fogged up. I just know that the car is moving and that the map is, so far, useless.

I only know that I'm no longer reading just because I enjoy the shadowy forms that come to life when everything else around me seems to disappear. I'm not merely escaping. I'm not only being entertained. These facets of the experience remain but there's more. I just don't know what else there is. Yet.

And I want to know. I also want there to be some shape, some place on a map that I can circle and say, "I'm finally here!" I just don't know where that is. Yet.

A Trip to Grandma's House

2009-02-09T11:34:00.006-05:00

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Mama!

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Mama!

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Mama!

How many more minutes until we're there?
About 45 minutes, Devyn.

Mama?
Molly, are you trying to tell me something?
Yes. Apple.

I'm sorry, we don't have any apples.

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Apple.

I'm sorry, we don't have any apples.

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Banana.

I'm sorry, we don't have any bananas.

Keith?
Yes?
Could you, please, take the next one?
I'm sorry, I have to concentrate on driving.

How many more minutes until we're there?
About 40 minutes.

Mama?

Molly, be quiet.
Devyn! Don't tell your sister to be quiet.
I need her to be quiet.
Then tell us and we'll handle it.

Mama?
Molly?
Yeh, Mama?
Let's close our eyes and sleep.

(Molly closes her eyes and pretends to snore.)

Mama?
Yes, Molly?
Apple.

How many more minutes until we're there?
About 40 minutes.

Mama . . .

Mother and Child

2009-01-31T10:24:00.018-05:00

Though I've tried and failed to keep an accurate count and I can't remember the content of all, I've read several hundred children's books over the past three or so years. This morning, I actually had pause to think of some that I've held while cuddled up to my babies.

Some have been too didactic for my tastes while others have been set to rhymes that have made me cringe. But I think I've enjoyed most of our repertoire, especially those that illustrate some poignant, universal qualities of the parent-young child relationship and wherein the expression or acknowledgment of which usually culminates in the mother reassuringly saying, "I love you."

I'm thinking of such titles: The Runaway Bunny; Olivia; Goodnight, My Duckling . . .

Very sweet. Every mother can recognize her own relationhip in the narrative and everyone feels warm and fuzzy at this point. Even a memorably difficult parenting day depicted in Harriet, You'll Drive Me Wild by Mem Fox ends with this tacit understanding of shared affection.

So, what prompted the memories of these books?

Just moments before, after joining my family in the tornadic swirl of activity that has become breakfast, I looked at my loving little 21-month-old as she reached for a piece of waffle:

"I love you, Molly." I said in a syrup-y, sing-song voice.

"I know."

Because she usually says "too" in this game, everyone laughed at the unexpected, matter-of-fact response.

But I was also stunned as well as amused. A sharp contrast to the content of those books was definitely not what I'd been set up for over the past few years, yet her first two-word response to "I love you" was really very funny.

And she's off!

2009-01-27T12:39:00.004-05:00

It finally occurred to me the other day -- as Devyn read a book without any preparation or hesitation -- that she is now a reader. Yesterday, I realized she is also a printer when she showed me a sentence she had written on her own without dictation.

Wow. I've waited for these moments as I recalled taking a book impatiently from my own mother's hands and deciding to read it myself as she wasn't doing it "just right". I was probably Devyn's age.

The little reader books sent home each day gave her confidence to just "let go" and jump in.

The school's curriculum includes this as a goal: kindergartner's reading and printing. They started preparing in JK and now the feelings I experience as she is reading and printing are beyond joy. I'm happy for her, really very happy for her and another little reader has popped up in the universe.

Dyven, Part the Second

2009-01-14T08:20:00.003-05:00

Last night at the supper table, Devyn waved to the window again.

"Hi," she said.

"Who are you waving to?"

"My new friend."

"Uh, what new friend?" My voice rose slightly as I decided whether or not panic should set in.

"My reflection. She's my new friend. She's very nice."

"What's her name?"

"Devyn-2."

Dyven?

2009-01-07T19:30:00.003-05:00

At the supper table tonight, Devyn spoke to our reflections in the kitchen window:

"Hello!" she said. "How are you? You should come and play."

There was silence.

"Oh. They want us to come and play with them."

And she's never even read Neil Gaiman.

During Christmas repast with the in-laws

2008-12-27T10:12:00.005-05:00

Me to Mother-in-law: Devyn is very active all day long. She has energy to spare.

Devyn: Yes and I've already spared it.

Catching up. Working out is working out. And I'm tired.

2008-12-13T08:32:00.007-05:00

I don't actually know what the seven habits of highly effective people are and I've never really cared, frankly.

But, I have noticed that habits -- good ones -- have become a part of our life in the past five months.

I work out -- HARD -- six or seven days a week. This means that I walk one hour (total) to and from the gym. This means that my children get fresh air: the baby gets five days a week and the older one gets two days one week, three the next. The older one walks at least three hours a week. They need snacks at the gym's childcare and I'm pretty strict about what they can and cannot eat.

My trainer and I meet Tuesdays and he pushes hard for an hour. I'm not able to do his workouts on the day before or on the day after the training session. I can't usually go to the gym Thursday because of an appointment for Molly (at least for two more weeks), so, when you do the math, I have to be there six times a week in order to get in two resistance-circuit workouts: two of those workouts and four regular, high-intensity cardio sessions on special machines that I actually really enjoy.

Devyn says, "Ah, mom, you always go to the gym!" This can't be a bad thing because she tells people her mom goes to the gym in order to be healthy because exercise is good for you. She says when she gets older, she wants to do the same. I've told her that her weekly ballet lessons are good exercise as well as great fun.

Also, I've met people whereas before I was rather more isolated, knowing only a handful of people spread throughout the province/globe.

Plus, very importantly, I get "me" time. I get at least one hour a day during which I'm doing something for myself, by myself. This has mileage because I'm such a solitary person.

Tired but rewarded . . .

Devyn

She had her first report card this month: she did very well academically and socially. What else is there at five? Her interest in crafts has really taken off. Her ballet and music teachers are happy. Her music teacher thinks Devyn is a natural musician. She plays piano but speaks often of wanting to play the violin. Do we allow two instruments? Ugh. I don't know. Would we be overscheduling? In our opinion, she needs to stick with the piano.

She does tend to talk in the ballet and music classes, a habit we need to break. She talks back to me and Keith a lot but we're working on that.

She loves science and natural processes. She loves adding and subtracting and explaining things to people. Keith bought her a high-powered, professional microscope for Christmas.

She likes to perform experiments and she is constantly moving around. I don't know how she does it.

She is a negotiator. She loves to argue. She loves opera and tea. She discovered opera with her grandmother back in November.

Molly

I'm by myself with the girls one to two weeks out of the month as Keith travels for work to London and Manchester UK, as well as to Greenville, South Carolina. This would be easier if Molly and Devyn didn't have so many appointments: Devyn sees an asthma clinic, a pediatrician and an allergist pretty much monthly; Molly sees a host of specialists, including, coming up, a speech pathologist. They want to evaluate her because she speaks like a two-year-old and she's 19 months old.

My pediatrician and his partner told me that Molly not only speaks but listens and acts like a two-year-old instead of a year-and-a-half-old and commended me for teaching her English Sign Language. It reduces the frustration (pinching,biting, kicking, hitting) that she is not yet supposed to experience where communication is concerned. I used to have bruises all along my arms before I started teaching English Sign Language. I have been bruise-free for months now!

Her development kind of makes me nervous because I'm not sure what to do: she wants to toilet train (she knows the process). She lets me know when her diaper needs to be changed and that it WILL need to be changed. Do I try to train her now? She insists on dressing herself. She identifies letter magnets: i, e, d, m, b. She follows commands of three or more sentences. We always joke that we just hope she'll use her powers for good when she's older. Wasn't I supposed to have 6 more months of baby-ish hood? I went from baby to two right away! But she CAN have time-outs now, so that helps.

What's very tiring is that she wants me to read to her ALL the time. I jokingly refer to this as her non-fiction phase because they're books about objects that she wants labelled and explained though stories do appear in the rotation. It's HARD to read the same books all the time.

We've read this book 11x since I started writing this morning:

It was Parenting Magazine's book of the year in 1999. I'm beginning to hate it this morning.

She loves dolls and tea sets and pretending with a dolly stroller which is fun for me and Devyn.

We call her Molly Two-Two because she always wants two of everything.

Anyway . . .

Devyn and I will get some quality mummy-and-me time this weekend: We're going to see The Nutcracker as performed by the National Ballet of Cuba. I bought her a little gown for the occasion and we've been reading a rather diluted version of the story in the past couple of days. I'm looking forward to it. I hope she enjoys it because I would like it to become a Christmas tradition. We shall see . . .

For the record

It has taken me over a week to write this post.

Opportunities

2008-11-26T12:09:00.024-05:00

I get to read while I wait in my doctor's office for appointments. My husband has the children (it's a small waiting room) and I am gloriously free for, at times, an hour to an-hour-and-a-half.

When they apologize for keeping me waiting, I always tell the staff not to worry:

"Are you kidding? This is the only rest I've had all day!"

The other day, I took along my latest issue of Quill & Quire: It's a magazine that, frankly, enables my odd habit of reading "just enough" of a blurb or a review of a book so as to note that I want to read it while seemingly avoiding spoilers that could pop up unexpectedly. Then, I mark a line in the top-right corner of the page to indicate that it's a page I want to remember.

I made note of a few titles that belong to the two subsets of literature comprise my reading list: that of the South Asian diaspora and that of the African diaspora (well, my reading also list includes authors still resident in their country-of-origin):

Vishnu Dreams by Ven Begamudre

I haven't read Ven Begamudre's first novel so I haven't the slightest sense of the author's style.

According to Emily Donaldson, Begamudre's second novel deals with "the conflicts that develop within an Indian family in the wake of their emigration to North American in the late 1960s . . . The story follows their attempts to integrate into a culture still mired in racism and ignorance."

There were also some titles for the young that really caught my eye:

The Bite of the Mango by Mariatu Kamara with Susan McClelland (Young Adult)

This account of young Mariatu Kamara's trauma in Sierra Leone -- which garnered international attention -- was released in September 2008.

Laurie McNeill writes:

"Because the text bears witness to a conflict most young Canadians will know little about, it deserves thoughtful reading, though its necessarily graphic nature makes it best suited to mature readers."

I think I'll have to work up to this and, admittedly, there are so many books awaiting my attention that it could be many months before I get to this one. Heavy.

Child of Dandelions by Shenaaz Nanji.

This novel is set in the era of Uganda's Idi Amin.

Librarian By Day writes:

"Child of Dandelions offers a positive look at a difficult period in the life of a girl, a family, and a country. This is an intriguing novel, one that could be paired with other culture-clash or immigration novels, to offer an example from the recent past." (Italics mine).

Usually, reading Uwem Akpan or Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (my favourite authors) requires a strong, emotional commitment due to the serious and descriptive content that captures individual strife in the midst of national turmoil. I suspect, this novel will require the same kind of relationship. Am I ready?

The Octonauts & The Frown Fish by
Meomi

(Honestly, being so out-of-touch with, well, everything, meant that I needed to Google Meomi to find out who/what it was. It is a self-described studio.)

Wonderous Strange by Lesley Livingston

I want to write more but can't because a toddler pulls me away from my compuer to read to her.

Overheard in Kindergarten

2008-11-24T15:50:00.003-05:00

1st Boy: There's a woman who's 200 years old.

2nd Boy: Really?

1st Boy: Yeah, it's true. I saw it on TV.

My girl wants to read all the time . . .

2008-11-14T08:22:00.001-05:00

Molly, 18 months, wants me to read to her ALL the time. While I'm encouraged by her enthusiasm, I find it difficult to get anything done and, frankly, reading Lamaze's One, Two, Buckle My Shoe sixty times a day can be a bit much.

Sandra Boynton appears in countless reading sessions, the favourite now being Blue Hat, Green Hat. Again, reading any book thirty times can test the nerves but once I realized the intended concept being imparted, I developed an inner dialogue (a "happy place", if you will) that allowed me to keep reading.

Molly's selections sometimes surprise me as much as the fact that she actually seems to find the books she's looking for among the bookshelf unit that she shares with her sister.

They fall into two categories: books filled with objects at which she will point and label when requested and which she enjoys having narrated, as well; books with a small story or repetitive theme.

This morning -- this early morning -- began with a sweet request for the following:

She has been "self-training" for a couple of months by which I mean that I have not introduced the idea of toilet training and yet she has become impatient, no longer tolerating unchanged diapers. She even lets me know what's, er, on its way. It all started with putting things away, undressing herself, and, then, taking off her diaper. The next thing we knew, she was telling us that she needed her diaper changing and what was in it. It isn't something I've discouraged but, admittedly, I'm not yet sure where to go. It seems Molly may be pushing me in the direction she wants, anyway.

But it's good. It's a good thing. It's as good a thing as Molly using both signed and spoken language at the same time. Molly signs as a way of reducing her frustration in wanting to do more than she is developmentally capable of, such as expressing complex thoughts. (I started teaching her 'baby sign' but soon afterward switched to English Sign Language in order to give her a language that she could take beyond toddlerhood.)

Hitting was one of the difficulties we had when Molly first started trying to speak more (along with pinching, biting, kicking and throwing). Once I began teaching her English Sign Language, the assaults on me stopped! Not only has it had the intended effect, it has also increased her spoken language and she will often sign and speak at the same time as if she were bilingual (which I think she may be becoming). She loves this book.

Honestly, I've never bought into the lines of toys geared towards producing prodigies and Lamaze isn't even my favourite brand. (I actually love Melissa & Doug.) I did buy her Bright Baby's First Words and Colors because of the colours in the images and the design of the books.

This, too, when it's within reach, is requested countless times throughout the day. (I find it helpful for Devyn, too, who loves to learn to spell new words.)

In fact, Roger Priddy's books really are useful in so many ways when you realize that children of all ages love to learn if you, yourself, are enthusiastic about the process. I can barely abide the be-a-perfect-parent and my-child-is-a-sponge pressures of parenting and, generally, I would have considered these to be products of this tension-filled parenting era. But, really, they're helpful and appreciated by my children. Over and over and over . . .

As for me and my reading, it's a slow and jagged experience as I seize moments here and there. Maybe if I read on the spinning bicycle at the gym . . .

The Big Promise of Little Lights

2008-10-17T22:40:00.010-04:00

On cold nights or after busy days, I can't resist reading in the dark by book-light and it's especially irresistible during a thunderstorm.

Tonight, I shut off the light in the girls' room and curled up with Devyn in her bunk bed. I had my favourite book-light -- yes, I have a collection -- and we read two chapters of Enchanted: A Dream Come True.

I actually don't mind the 'princess phase' that seems to have taken hold of many five-year-old girls. I think it's cute and probably necessary and I think every girl deserves to feel like a princess. Everyday, Devyn dons her princess gown (complete with its own music) and shoes and behaves like a princess.

And I'm reminded of A Little Princess:

Her trick of pretending things was the joy of her life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new "pretend" about being a princess was very near to her heart, and she was shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school. She felt the blood rush up into her face and tingle in her ears. She only just saved herself. If you were a princess, you did not fly into rages. Her hand dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she spoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, and everybody listened to her.

"Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one." (Frances H. Burnett)

Unlike Sara, Devyn doesn't have to defend herself: her peers like princesses and playing dress-up and they will just as easily change into Spider-man costumes, girls and boys alike.

(I'm not as comfortable with her collecting-dead-bugs phase as specimens for study but I'm glad she's going through it. I'm trying to overcome my squeamishness.)

But I've digressed.

All this is to say that I'm hoping that I've bestowed a gift upon my little girl. We've read every night since she arrived but tonight it was as if I had admitted her to a secret club or shown her something little-known-but-spectacular about the universe.

I hope that the promise of being able to curl up in the dark with a little light and a fascinating book stays with Devyn for the rest of her life. And, yes, I hope she continues to feel like a princess, too.

The White Tiger

2008-10-14T21:00:00.003-04:00

At 6:00 tonight, I quickly checked my email and discovered that the Man Booker Prize winner had been announced. Aravind Adiga won for The White Tiger which has been on my reading list but which hasn't really moved up at all.

It's part of my South Asian-Caribbean-Nigerian reading path, I just haven't gotten there yet.

Anyway, since I was on my way to the gym at 6:30, I swung by my local book store and picked up a copy whose cover announced that the title had been shortlisted for the prize that is roughly about $100,000 CDN.

When I told the clerk that Aravind Adiga had, in fact, won, I felt like a town crier because the news was so recent!

Good candidate for Best First Sentence

2008-10-12T22:29:00.009-04:00

"The night I moved in with Aunt Ethel, she shot a bat in the kitchen."

Josh, narrator

The Ghost's Grave

Peg Kehret
Puffin/Penguin Young Readers Group
ISBN -10: 0142408190
ISBN -13: 9780142408193
Ages 8-12
224 pages

Serendipity and A Reading Milestone!

2008-09-27T21:12:00.021-04:00

Last Saturday, while Keith took Devyn to ballet and music classes, I took Molly to the library. While browsing the shelves for titles that might interest Devyn, I found Arthur and the Race to Read (Marc Brown) nestled among the picture books. A chapter book? I hadn't considered that Devyn was ready to begin this phase.

The Arthur Good Sports series (of which The Race is the first title) is recommended for children aged 8 and up but that didn't matter. Why not try? I put the book with the others I intended to borrow.

I ignore the age-appropriateness recommendations attached to children's titles (including picture books) because I think I usually have a good sense of what my children can or cannot appreciate.

I'm also drawing from personal experience. I loved The Best Christmas Pageant Ever (Barbara Robinson). I think it was my first chapter book and I was about six years old when I sat for a reading of it.

Also, as a rule, I do not like to make books off-limits. (Trust me, this is a tough one. I cringe inwardly when Devyn brings home a Powerpuffs book from school because I find them too violent. I tell her why I find them violent, even if "only bad guys are getting hurt", but that she's welcome to read -- or, in her case -- look through them.)

It was simply Devyn's ability to sit still long enough or to delay gratification long enough to hear the whole story that I questioned. But Devyn, newly five years old, is changing so quickly. I was wrong. She loved it. She and Keith had started reading it a few days ago and this evening Devyn announced, before bedtime, that they'd read the last two chapters.

Moo, Baa, La La La!

2008-09-12T19:33:00.051-04:00

When Molly was very young, about two months old, I found that reading Moo, Baa, La La La! by Sandra Boynton would calm her down if fussiness was near at hand. Eventually, of course, having the book in my hand was not necessary.

It was so successful a tactic that, after a short while, I only had to begin to recite the poem (because that's what it is, really) and she would immediately smile. She is almost a year-and-a-half (16 months) and the approach still works as well as it did the first time!

Now, she tries to mouth the words as I intentionally slow my speech and enunciate each word. So far, I've only heard "la".

Admittedly, reciting this in a crowded doctor's office when the baby starts screaming is a little embarrassing. But, I've asked myself, after giving birth, can anything really embarrass me anymore?

At any rate, I have enjoyed a rare opportunity of having had my first baby while already raising my first child and this places me in another odd category: I'm the mother of an older child and yet I have spent the better part of a year discovering how a baby relates to books and pictures.

At first, when she grasped a book, her interest was in turning pages. Then, after a short while, I noticed that she would go back through a book and look for a specific page, examine it and then continue through.

Molly now thumbs through books with a purpose: she's looking for something, usually food (she calls it 'na-na' ) or balls (known as 'bah') and will point to it when she sees it. Initially, I couldn't decide if she was asking me for food or just showing me that she knew what an object was.

(Last week or so, she was trying to tell me she was hungry. She was already in bed, so, having unsuccessfully proffered a bottle, I assumed she was extending the meaning of the word 'na-na'. In a fit of absolute frustration, she held up a soft block and pointed to a very unrealistic depiction of a slice of a citrus fruit and yelled, "Na-na". When the lightbulb appeared above my head, I raced downstairs to get her some yogurt and she was happy.)

So, you see, it isn't entirely improbable that she could be asking for food or for a ball when she points to the picture and utters the word. But, usually, she's just showing me a picture.

Also, I've noticed three behaviours: she will point to any circular thing -- usually, an image -- and call it a 'bah' and it happens at home or in public; she will lately try to grab an object from a book (so it seems) which creates a noise similar to nails on chalkboard; and, she likes to use her finger to outline an image in a book.

Relationship to nonfiction, etc.

2008-09-09T09:30:00.018-04:00

Without a doubt, my older child is a scientist. With questions ranging from: "How does the water get to our house? To our bathtub? How does it get hot by the time it gets to our tub?" to "How long will it take my flashlight to melt my Freezie?", it is hard to answer each question.

I can't even answer all of her questions (and sometimes defer to Keith) and it isn't due to mere exhaustion (though that does play a role). But, when at the Discovery Centre last Family Day she could be heard loudly requesting, "Show me an orbit! Show me something in an orbit", I hastily looked for a picture of a satellite or a planet.

So, I'm almost surprised that she naturally gravitates to fiction for reading but I wonder if it isn't because I actually make fiction more available. Over the years, I've amassed a not inconsiderable number of nonfiction titles under diverse topics: how homes are built, insects and bugs, dinosaurs, manners, stranger safety, rocks and minerals, planets, etc. She loves them but when she reaches for a book, it's either one of my titles (to which she makes up her own story) or a picture book.

(Myself, I am drawn more to nonfiction. Well, not so much in the past year, actually. Anyway, I digress.)

She draws and colours but doesn't enjoy them as much as other little girls her age that I've observed. She would rather collect rocks or run around pretending to be something. She could add and subtract at the supper table before she could be taught to print.

Now, she LOVES jigsaw puzzles. The bigger, the better.

In fact, she is "very, very good," the health club child-minder told me yesterday. "Children like this often turn out to be brilliant."

Puzzles. Her son used to do 60-piece puzzles at the age of two. Now, he works for (insert LARGE COMPUTER COMPANY) in California. Devyn's appreciation of puzzles is expansive but she certainly didn't start that large and at so young an age.

When she grows up, she wants to be either a firefighter or a doctor. At the moment, she's enjoying a princess phase, so she speaks often of Ariel, Jasmine, Aurora, Annalise and Snow White and might also like to be a princess. I just hope she continues to read and to do experiments, no matter what she ends up doing or being.

Those cool cards . . .

2008-08-06T21:31:00.022-04:00

I noticed a deck of playing cards -- that I'd bought on one of our too-many trips to the toy store -- on a dusty shelf in the basement. The illustration of the box was what attracted me on that particular day and this evening.

The colours are impressive: jazzy, even.

I know that I bought them long before my daughter was able to play cards (she's five and only recently learned how to hold cards fanned out in a 'hand'). I bought them because I liked them.

If I'd paid any attention whatsoever to the packaging, I would have noticed that they are the product of Chris Raschka's hands as part of the Eeboo Great Illustrators Playing Cards Series. A pleasant surprise!

Chris Raschka is the author/illustrator of the rhythmic Charlie Parker Played Be-Bop, a picture book read countless times over the past couple of years in our home. I look forward to reading it with my younger daughter.

The series is still available but it's difficult to actually find out the name of the illustrator of each deck. I lost patience after trying the most obvious: eeBoo, Baby Geniuses, etc.

But, in the search for some, any information about these playing cards, I discovered that a book that I'd bought just last month was, coincidentally, recalled last month due to possible lead contamination of an attached gift item. An unpleasant surprise!

The Magical Ballet Slippers comes with a ballet-slippers charm.

Anyway, obviously, not all of my shopping works out. But, I'm going to look for Charlie Parker Played Be-Bop now -- it has to be around here somewhere -- because I know my baby will enjoy it, even at 15 months of age. As for the cards, I'll show them to Devyn. I know she'll love them as much as I do.

Veering Off Course

2008-08-06T07:52:00.006-04:00

I've definitely detoured from the original path of reading literature of South Asian and Middle Eastern fiction and nonfiction. I guess everyone needs a break.

I've also slowly worked on longer posts about books recently (and not so recently) read but, with my husband travelling on business so often lately, I've had precious few moments to spare.

Now that he's back, expect more from me. At least, don't give up on me.

Finally, a decision!

2008-07-04T08:01:00.009-04:00

Again, I decided on a book of some controversy; at least, it was banned in the author's country of origin (Saudi Arabia): Wolves of the Crescent Moon by Yousef Al-Mohaimeed (translated). Though I've read only the first few chapters, it is already emotionally difficult.

When reading books of Saudi origin, I am always thirsty for a sense of the geophysical landscape (having never visited the kingdom before); but, this is generally the case for books. I positively crave ethnographic and geographic detail. As for books of Caribbean origin, I am drawn by a sense of the familiar, too. At the moment, I'm just exploring and absorbing and being filled with wonder.

Of course, I'm reading Wolves on my Treo; otherwise, I'd never have the opportunity to sit down with a book and read.

At the moment, I'm trying to decide what to do with the children and I think I've decided on the library.

Reading Status

2008-07-01T20:10:00.004-04:00

I finally finished Girls of Riyadh: A Novel (Rajaa Alsanea) after two weeks. I've chosen my bedtime book: Suddenly Supernatural: School Spirit (Elizabeth Cody Kimmel). There are so many roads to turn down right now as far as the next primary book to read: Pakistani Bride (Bapsi Sidhwa), Brick Lane (Monica Ali), Life Isn't All Ha Ha Hee Hee (Meera Syal) . . . The list is so long. I haven't forgotten about Uwem Akpan or Jhumpa Lahiri. Ack! Where next?

Relationships

2008-06-13T19:53:00.013-04:00

of myself to books

I find that I can only read if it's an ebook and if it's on my Palm Treo 700w because there is so little prior commitment involved. Anyway, my appetite has been voracious lately: five in the past month which, for me, is a good record since the start of my pregnancy in 2007.

Unfortunately, reading this much this quickly with two children on hand (full time) means that my notes are sporadic at times and I might not always remember where I put them (the notes, not the children). The good news is that, of necessity, reading speed has increased. I used to have time only to read to the children -- hence, the blog title -- but now with faster reading, since giving up the small amount of television that I used to watch, and reading during some tasks, I've carved out some small space to which I may escape.

I've been working through my thoughts about the last four books but especially about Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam. This will probably be the topic of my next post. This book actually represents a deviation from my projected path -- the Path This Year -- of South Asian, Middle Eastern, Caribbean, and African fiction and memoirs.

I've almost finished another deviation from The Path: The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time (Mark Haddon) and I'm trying to decide which book will follow.

of the kids to books

Being Devyn's first year in school (JK), I actually had a 'Scholastic Club' monthly budget. It seems doubly justifiable now that I have another daughter. I'm rounding out their collection of nonfiction and picking up some classics at lower-than-usual prices.

I am reluctantly storing away all titles -- meaning chapter books, middle and young adult --intended for children over the age of seven. (I've taken photographs of each book before it enters a bin in order to achieve some organization). Culling the shelves is necessary because they have many hundreds and poor Devyn's room is cluttered.

Devyn achieved her final "Snuggle Up and Read" certificate this past Wednesday for having read over 500 books with us since October.

Little Molly (13 months) loves books, especially small ones with vivid colour. She has been able to turn pages one-by-one for a long time and it always amazes me when she arrives at a page but then, as an afterthought, returns to the previous one in order to revisit something. She always asks, "Whaz dat?" when doing so, when doing anything. She sometimes falls asleep looking at a book but, unfortunately, not very often. (This technique might work more often if I were to turn on a light for her).

Devyn loves to 'read' to her as she sits in Molly's rocking chair and Molly listens from her crib. Of course, there is often a child's CD blaring in the background so the narrative in itself could hardly be considered a soothing experience for the baby.

Kabul Beauty School (Random House, April 2007)

2008-05-20T23:19:00.008-04:00

As often happens, I find a brilliant passage in an article that describes something far more effectively than I. In this case, the following from the New York Times captures both the co-author, Deborah Rodriquez, and the bottom-line effect of Kabul Beauty School: An American Woman Goes Behind The Veil:

The book, released April 10 [2007] by Random House, is a story of a
flame-haired, cigarette-smoking, multiply-divorced Michigan hairdresser who travels to Afghanistan, falls in love with the country, and returns later to set up a beauty school.

The story provides a greater appreciation of the cultural mores (and sometimes laws) governing male-female relationships in Afghanistan and it is this kind of ethnographic detail of both fiction and nonfiction that I generally crave.

Initially, I wanted to say that the account is kind of thin. The author could have done more to flesh out relationships, maybe focus more indepthly on the follow-up of the individual lives that she affected.

And I asked myself: What was Deborah Rodriguez's original intention in writing this book? Clearly, she wants to let the world know about the organization responsible for getting the beauty school-cum-salon off the ground.

She probably wants people to know her own difficulties in getting and keeping funding for the school which included starting a salon of her own. (In this way, she trained would-be professional beauticians, generated revenue and sourced additional teachers as the project grew.)

I like to think that she wants to convey the magnitude of the accomplishment: Empowering women with skills to run their own salons and generate income for themselves or for their families seems no small feat in a country in which women are discouraged from doing such things.

Considering the general public reaction to the book, my own observations seem inconsequential. The narrative, at times, is jagged and I wonder what, if anything, I might be missing. But I like the dialogue and the sometimes creative means by which the author overcomes language barriers.

I think she fails in some important respects. The personal stories -- when mentioned -- are not detailed enough for me. I still want to know what happened -- what really happened -- to Topekai, Baseera, Roshanna, Laila and Hama. I am still curious about Shaz.

But there are bigger problems and I may have been too optimistic in thinking that she and others might have started social reform in Afghanistan from which future generations will benefit.

According to the NPR in June 2007, the details already shared in the narrative cause controversy and anger:

the subjects of her book say Rodriguez and her newfound fame have put theirlives in danger . . .

About the subject women, the article continues:

At least one of the girls from the school has made an escape plan. One, who is called "Topekai" in the book, says her husband, who read the book, is moving their family to Pakistan.

The others — whose husbands are unaware of the
book — say they don't know what to do.

The woman called "Baseera" in Rodriguez's book says it may not matter. She is convinced someone will kill her.

This is serious and saddening: Cross-cultural value systems colliding, sociopolitical fears casting shadows over well-intentioned efforts.

And there is yet more controversy. According to quoted subjects in the New York Times (April 2007), there are questions about consistency and accuracy and perhaps enough changes to actual details that place the very nature of the narrative in question.

Frankly, like the project itself, the book initially seemed to be the start of something and, hopefully, the promise of something more. Now, I am not so certain. Did I even read a memoir?

Shades of Truth: An Account of a Kabul School Is Challenged (Abby Ellin, NYT, April 29, 2007)

Subjects of 'Kabul Beauty School' Face New Risks
(Soraya Sarhaddi Nelson, NPR, June 1, 2007)

Down The Pipe

2008-03-09T12:39:00.006-04:00

I just ordered Manil Suri's The Death of Vishnu. I also just bought Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea and Intrepreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri . I've steadfastly avoided seeing anything about the movie based on The Namesake because I don't want it to spoil the reading experience for me (because I do intend to restart and actually finish it soon).

But, even though at times I don't want to do so, I'm faithfully reading Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Hoeg. It's well-written and the characters are interesting; the plot creates suspense but it's not magical for me though I was drawn to its setting in Denmark. I'm not excited about this book; but, then, I haven't finished it, either. I'm uncomfortable saying much about it at the moment.

For Devyn's Easter present, I ordered The Pigeon Finds A Hot Dog by Mo Willems. The series promotes complete interaction from page to page and Devyn goes "crazy like a pig" for Mo Willems's pigeons.

What I am really waiting for is Say You're One of Them by Uwem Akpan, a collection of short fiction due out in June 2008. I actually have it marked on my calendar. In the meantime, I ordered from Audible a reading of one of Uwem Akpan's short stories from the New Yorker Festival 2006 (it also features fiction by Louise Erdrich). I haven't even had time to find out which story it actually is!

Devyn and Molly's Scholastic order arrived on Friday. It's large. Maybe I'll post the titles with links later. No promises.

_____

Short fiction, Uwem Akpan, "My Parents' Bedroom" The New Yorker (June 12, 2006)
Uwem Akpan Interview with Cressida Leyshon, The New Yorker (June 13, 2005).
Short fiction, Uwem Akpan, "An Xmas Feast" The New Yorker (June 13, 2005)

Short fiction, Jhumpa Lahiri, "Once In A Lifetime" The New Yorker (May 8, 2006)
Article, Pulitzer for Jhumpa Lahiri, Rediff.com (April 11, 2000)
Article, Lahiri as one of 20 writers for 21st century, Rediff.com (June 19, 1999)

PostSecret

2008-02-24T18:07:00.007-05:00

PostSecret.com is popular; its message is powerful: If secrecy alienates, then vulnerability unites.

It also attracts humans in hordes, including me.

In fact, I may have to eat my own words. I once publicly decried the rise of reality-based television as marking the end of collective reason that would have us wandering around like incoherent halfwits while civilization around us slowly declined.

Now, I see that it is the hope of glimpsing the unedited that is so compelling to an audience whether that glimpse be in a staged photograph, a carefully written celebrity interview or a tightly produced reality show. At least, that is true for me. So, when I first read a blurb about PostSecret in a magazine, I was interested.

After downloading the site, I wanted more -- much more -- so, I immediately bought the first two books: PostSecret and My Secret. At first, I was embarrassed by my interest in the lives of other people, even as I asked the clerk at my local bookstore for the copies. Then, it hit me: having secrets makes us uncomfortable because it reminds us that we're human; having access to other people's secrets makes us comfortable because it reminds us that they're human, too.

I think it is this uncensored honesty of the project's content that I found particularly moving. It also helped me with my writing. Winburn, in my weekly course readings, suggests searching for "emotional truth" in producing narrative and this now makes sense to me. The more the author gives of himself, the more willing the reader is to contribute, or to commit, to the text because he sees himself in the story.

The project also raises questions about relationships: reader and author, reader and text, author and text. Who authored this work? Certainly, the nameless public contributed the content, but did Frank Warren edit in even the slightest way? Was there purpose behind the order in which the postcards appeared? For example, was he trying to, or, did he subconsciously, elicit different emotional reactions?

My immediate impression was that there was no intention behind the sequence of secrets. The only way in which he could have removed himself from the work would have been to lay out the book without first having read the cards and, in the introduction to the book, he suggests that he did, in fact, read the secrets.

At any rate, Frank Warren seems to have achieved a significant goal of mine: He has produced a narrative that has dictated its own compositional form to the degree that this is actually possible.

______

All the books in the series are available on the website for purchase.

Links

2008-01-30T17:07:00.001-05:00

The links in the previous post are working now.

Royal Society of Literature Review: http://www.rslit.org/

100 books every child should read (Telegraph.co.uk)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/arts/main.jhtml?xml=/arts/2008/01/19/bokidsbooks219.xml

Reading: A pill for intellectual development?

2008-01-19T01:46:00.001-05:00

An article in the Telegraph.co.uk by Michael Morpurgo today about instilling the love of reading in children is followed by the Telegraph's guide to the 100 books that every child should read (per three age groups).

Mr. Morpurgo says that Britain (though it sounds pretty widespread to me) is in a muddle about literacy. Treating the ability to read as a tool for success rather than focussing on the appreciation of storytelling and the story have created the commodification of reading. He partly blames education:

Ironically, it may be responsible both for the great blossoming of our literature, and at the same time for leaving so many with the impression that literature is not for them, but the preserve of a certain educated elite. As a consequence, much of our society has become separated from its own stories.

When I reflect on my early reading experiences, those that come immediately to mind involve teachers/librarians/authors reading to the class. I guess that I already had a love of story.

At any rate, there are some surprising choices for the Top 100s (because I haven't seen them very often on other lists of the sort) and I'm glad that I have copies of many of the titles. I've not read all of what I own.

There's a story by Jacqueline Wilson -- one of my favourites -- that I haven't read and now intend to do so: The Story of Tracy Beaker.

Some of my childhood favourites, read over and over again, made the lists: Pippi Longstocking, Winnie The Pooh, Tom's Midnight Garden, The Outsiders.

Books I've avoided appear: Watership Down. (I've avoided it because I've heard that it's powerful emotionally and it has taken me years to grow comfortable with The Velveteen Rabbit. I don't want to go through that again.) Charlotte's Web. As a child, the story saddened me.

Book(s) I didn't like appeared, as well: The Story of Babar. Anything Babar, really, I just don't like.

Some books that I've even recently considered reading: I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith and Coraline by Neil Gaiman (both started years back but remain unfinished).

Some books that I'd like to buy made the lists: The Worst Witch Collection, by Jill Murphy.

A longer version of the article in the Royal Society of Literature Review: http://www.rslit.org/

Here are the lists:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/arts/main.jhtml?xml=/arts/2008/01/19/bokidsbooks219.xml

Note to self: Er, stop avoiding the books that require intense, emotional engagement. This is a comfort-zone alert!

Settling in

2007-12-16T21:06:00.002-05:00

I finally finished my second journalism course. It was fun and not too difficult. My next course starts on January 11. I'm aiming for one course per term.

Devyn's finally established in Junior Kindergarten. Despite her surprising lack of confidence, she is now printing and sounding out words. She has started to read.

I'm surprised by Molly's interest in stories being read. She is always present for Devyn's bedtime ritual and it's clear that she examines the pages and listens to the narrative. I've started to read to her. In the first week of December, my mother brought the girls some pop-up books and Molly threw a tantrum each time hers was removed from her hands. This is a side to her that I'd never seen before.

Tonight, for the first time -- it being Christmas, after all -- it suddenly occurred to me to collect all of the children's christmas books (never read) and place them in the living room where they're most likely to be read throughout the next couple of weeks.

In fact, Devyn and I read this evening: Santa Mouse, Christmas With the Santa Bears and The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear.

And I have been recording all of the books that I read to the girls but haven't bothered to post about it since October, I think.

I could cite any number of reasons. We've had bout after bout of illness making the rounds. I'm still adjusting to having two children and not just one to look after. Actually, though, I'm tired. Sometimes, I fall asleep when putting Molly down at 6:00 or 7:00 pm.

Keith and Devyn are the ones in the family who actually have energy and they keep each other busy: Today, they sled down the hill in our backyard and made snow angels, too.

They also have a game that they play several times a day in the kitchen: Devyn asks Keith how to spell a word or asks for a word to spell and they use the foamy magnetic letters on the fridge. I can hear their voices raised in excitement.

At the moment, everyone is asleep. Well, except for me but I'm on my way to bed.

Strangers and . . . other animals?

2007-10-17T00:12:00.002-04:00

My four-year-old has been told not to talk to strangers for a couple of years now. Lately, she has been asking just what a stranger is. Oftentimes, after speaking to an acquaintance of mine, I'll feel a tug on my shirt: "Is she a stranger?"

What a difficult question!

"Yes," I answer. "But, as long as you're with Mummy, you're safe." She cuddles closer to me.

When I received the Scholastic package that I'd ordered from her supplemental Junior Kindergarten programme last week, I looked for two titles: Never Talk To Strangers by Irma Joyce (illustrated S.D. Schindler) and Don't Talk To Strangers by Christine Mehlhaff (illustrated by Kathi Ember).

I read Never Talk To Strangers first (before the other book and before reading it to my daughter) and my first impression: lt would have been better marketed with a don't-approach-strange-animals message:

If you are hanging from a trapeze

And up sneaks a camel with bony knees,

Remember this rule, if you please --

Never talk to strangers.

I just wondered how a preschooler would abstract from the pictures of animals the idea that people are strangers and that they are dangerous (especially when some of the animals are rarely perceived as dangerous and because children of that age range have difficulty defining "stranger"). Granted, it was written in the 1960s and the author laboured under different social constraints.

Still, I had just started to read when my daughter quipped, "Hey, a giraffe isn't a stranger!"

And that's just about what I'd expected. So, the intended message is constant but lacks, well, meaningful content which makes it less of a message than a . . . slogan. I guess. (Oh, dear, that's probably another post: "Are slogans meaningful?")

Mehlhaff's Don't Talk To Strangers is much more direct and it hits all the right points about stranger safety: don't talk to strangers, don't help strangers, don't accept rides from strangers or acquaintances, etc. It even includes an Internet safety message.

Oh, yes, there are animals -- a family -- but, in this book, they're friendly and they're the main characters.

Understandably, neither book directly addresses possible consequences of disobeying the safety rules and I'm not the only mother trying to figure out how to answer the inevitable "But, why?" question. I suspect that answers are produced and nuanced by each particular parent-child relationship that engages in this dialogue. So far, for me and mine, the books' implied -- and my explicit -- answer suffices: Because it's dangerous and you could get hurt.

I do hereby swear to post interesting and meaningful links about these titles. At some point.