The Masks We Wear

Halloween is not my holiday.  Scary and, to me, morbid, I could happily skip the whole thing.  But most kids love it and so I decided to find non-scary Halloween books to read to my students this year.

Illustration by Louis Darling

The first book - or rather, chapter of a book - that came to mind - was the one in Ramona the Pest where she dresses up as "the baddest witch in the world" and participates for the first time in the school Halloween parade.  Reading it to classes over and over, I was struck each and every time by how perfectly Beverly Cleary describes the terror that can come with the anonymity that a costume can bring.  Cleary writes, "Nobody knew who Ramona was, and if nobody knew who she was, she wasn't anybody."  Desperate to assert her identity, Ramona runs back to her classroom and writes herself a nametag, which she proudly holds in front of her costume.

Cleary also describes with emotional clarity the satisfaction children (and adults) can have in scaring themselves - in controlling the amount of fear they experience.  Ramona finds her own mask terrifying and hides it under a couch cushion so she doesn't have to look at it.  But then she periodically "would lift the cushion for a quick glimpse of her scary mask before she clapped the pillow over it again.  Scaring herself was such fun." And while Ramona finds looking at her mask scary, when she wears it - and therefore can't see it herself - she feels brave.  That is, until she feels lost and alone.

Illustrations by Kurt Werth

Written five years before Ramona the Pest, A Tiger Called Thomas by Charlotte Zolotow also uses Halloween and costumes to tackle issues of identity, but from a very different perspective.  Thomas, who has just moved to a new neighborhood, is too shy to approach any of his neighbors.  (And why should he?!?  Shouldn't they come over and greet the new arrivees?  But that is neither here nor there.)  But safely inside his tiger costume, Thomas is brave enough to trick-or-treat, feeling secure that no one will recognize him.  Much to his surprise, everyone knows who he is!  (A Tiger Called Thomas wass reissued with new illustrations in 1988 and again in  2003 and will be published again next year with yet another set of illustrations.  There was an article in the March/April 2017 issue of The Horn Book about the different versions, but unfortunately it is not online.) 

Masks - literal and figurative - can embolden us, change us, or render us invisible or anonymous.

But I still don't like Halloween.

I AM The Audiobook

When I read over at What Do We Do All Day? Facebook page about the Ramona-Henry Huggins audiobooks, about whose existence I hadn't known, although I should have, I realized something: in our house, I AM the audiobook. 

I normally love reading to my kids.  It's one of the most special activities we share.  I have a lot of patience for rereading, too, although there are certain books I do refuse to read aloud (e.g. those Rainbow Magic atrocities).  But when my kids are sick and my reading aloud is the only entertainment they desire, I sometimes start to feel like an audiobook on which they are pressing play.  Over 4 days of my 6-year-old's being sick recently, I read well over 300 pages of the Ramona books Ramona books and we finished the series for the second time.  I've also read it aloud - all 8 books - to my older daughter twice.  If only I had thought to record myself reading it the first time!  (I've known grandparents and other relatives who live far from the children in their lives who have actually done this; it's a great substitute when being together in person isn't possible.)

Of course, reading together provides all kinds of benefits that listening to a recording (whether of me or a professional actor) does not.  First of all, there's the snuggling.  You can't snuggle with a CD player or an ipod.  Second, every time we read together, one or both of us notices something new, or asks a question, or discusses something different.  Sometimes I read, without explaining, difficult words, and sometimes I pause to define them.  Sometimes my daughters have questions, or a topic comes up that wouldn't have when we last read the book a year ago, when they were a year younger.  It would be fascinating to hear a recording of how I read some of these books in the past, and what has changed.

Nonetheless, we all need a break sometime.  I don't need to be a martyr!  And of course, audiobooks are great for the car.  We are city people and are not in the car that frequently, but when we are, good audiobooks also provide some great entertainment without me risking a headache. 

Right now our audiobook collection includes only the Frances books, Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One (the first chapter book in The Pain and the Great One series) and CDs that came with some of the books we own: the Barefoot Books of tales (like this, this, and this) and Poetry Speaks to Children (with some of the poems read by the poets themselves!).  We've taken The Mouse and the Motorcycle audiobook, one of the Humphrey audiobooks, and one of the Patricia Reilly Giff Zig Zag Kids audiobooks (which I do NOT recommend) out from the library.  We quickly discovered that not all narrators are created equal.  We just checked out the Henry and Beezus audiobook from the library, but it's an older version read by William Roberts.  Anyone know how it compares to the newer ones by Neil Patrick Harris?

I'd like to expand our collection, particularly with chapter books.  In my limited experience, Any recommendations, besides the Ramona-Henry Huggins audiobooks?  Specific editions/narrator preferences appreciated! 

A Hairy Situation

Betsy, Tacy, and Tib's Lopsided Haircuts

The other morning, as I was cutting my daughter's hair to remove it from a comb she had tangled it in in a misguided attempt to curl her straight hair, I started thinking about children, real and fictional, and hair.  Almost every kid has cut her own hair, or cut a sibling's or a doll's hair, or had her hair cut by a sibling.  Not to mention the chewing-gum-in-the-hair-type incidents.

Ella and Her Hair

In the delightful, rhyming Ella Kazoo Will Not Brush Her Hair, Ella lets her hair reach extreme proportions before succumbing to a haircut.

Betsy, Tacy, and Tib, in the second book in the series go overboard when they cut their hair to put in lockets to remember each other by (in case they die) and end up with very lopsided 'dos (see photo above).

In Russell and Elisa, the children take their pretend game of haircut to a new level when they actually cut first Elisa's doll Airmail's hair and then Elisa's friend's hair.

Ramona and Her Crown of Burrs

And of course, in Ramona and Her Father, Ramona makes herself a crown out of burrs, which, predictably to us, but apparently surprisingly to Ramona, gets stuck in her hair, forcing her father to cut it.  This is the scene to which my mind immediately flashed as I dealt with my own daughter's hairtastrophe (yes, I just made that word up) that morning.

Can you think of other fictional characters who get themselves into such hairy situations or do you have a story about yourself or your own child's hairtastrpohe?

Happy 97th Birthday, Beverly Cleary!

Yes, 97!!

Ramona the Pest

That First Chapter Book Read-Aloud

I just finished reading my younger daughter her first chapter book!  It was Beezus and Ramona by Beverly Cleary, the very same first chapter book I read to my older daughter.  It was a hit both times.  I picked it because Beverly Cleary gets real kids so right (Ramona thinks growing up goes so slowly, Beezus confronts the fact that while she loves Ramona, she doesn't always like her), it is funny (I mean, really, what is better than a kid who takes one bite out of every apple or bakes her doll inside her sister's birthday cake because she is pretending to be Gretel), and it is timeless (the lack of computers, cellphones and other gadgets just doesn't matter).  And of course, there is what it is not: scary, boring, or sad.

What's the first chapter book you read to your children?  Why did you choose it?

Books for a Seventh Birthday

Usually, I have great ideas for birthday gifts for my older daughter.  By great I don't mean fancy or expensive - just things I'm 99% sure she'll love.  But this year, I was pretty stumped.  Her only request was for books, especially poetry books.  I wanted to give her at least one or two poetry books, one or two chapter books she could read to herself, a book or two that was meaningful to her and/or me, and at least one read-aloud.  As much as possible, they also had to be purchase-worthy, not just library-worthy.  After much agonizing, here's what I finally settled on.

From me and her dad:

Amelia and Eleanor Go For A Ride by Pam Munoz Ryan.  Two amazing feminist role models, a great story, beautiful illustrations by Brian Selznick.  The birthday girl loved it when we had it out from the library, so it should be a sure bet.

Emma Dilemma: Big Sister Poems by Kristine O'Connell George.  Another winner when we had it out from the library, it seemed appropriate for a big sister.  I'm just worried the little sis will be jealous.  It fills both the "meaningful" slot and the poetry slot!

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein.  This one is to fulfill the poetry request.  We already have A Light in the Attic.

Tumtum and Nutmeg: Adventures Beyond Nutmouse Hall by Emily Bearn.  For me to read to her.  I'm excited to try something different, since we've mostly been reading about kids her own age (Ramona, Betsy-Tacy, Little House, Fudge).  Animal protagonists (here, mice) will be a nice change, I hope.  The birthday girl was eager to read it but we decided it was more prudent to read The Long Winter first, since that one's a library book.  I'm kind of regretting that decision as The Long Winter may take as long to read as the winter actually lasted. 

"From" her sister:

The Elevator Family by Douglas Evans.  Not pictured as it is the birthday girl's backpack for reading during downtime at school.

Homer Price by Robert McCloskey.  Did you know he wrote chapter books?  I didn't.

Both recommended by our local independent bookstore staff (and yes, purchased there), the latter because of the birthday girl's love of Ramona.

"From" our babysitter:

Clementine by Sara Pennypacker.

The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary.  Another mouse book.  I'm thinking Stuart Little will be next.

 I chose both of these with the idea of "If she loves Ramona she'll love..." in mind, too.

And I'm expecting she'll receive The Random House Book of Poetry for Children this weekend at her party (hint, hint!).

So, how'd I do?

Sibling Math: The Age Gap and New Baby as Plot Device

I'm sure you've noticed how authors (and TV sitcom writers) often add a new baby to a family as a way to give them new plotlines.  (Weddings, the other big TV plot device, are not, for obvious reasons, as prevalent in children's books.)  But did you ever notice how siblings in books are often spaced far apart?  Off the top of my head, I can think of the Ramona books (Beezus is 5 years older than Ramona, Roberta almost 10 years younger), Peter and Fudge and eventually Tootsie Hatcher (there's a 5 year age difference between Peter and Fudge and 8 or 9 between Peter and Tootsie) of the Fudge series and, in the books about Anastasia Krupnik, the title character and her little brother Sam (with an age gap of around 10 years).  Less well-known, Johanna Hurwitz's Riverside Kids books also feature siblings with a big age gap: Russell Michaels is 5 years older than his sister Elisa, who in turn is 4 or 5 years older than their new baby brother.

The reason, I think, is that the dialogue and action between the two siblings can be a lot funnier this way.  A two-year-old can't really star in a chapter book... unless he has a much older sibling who reacts to his antics.  There are, of course, books about siblings much closer in age (The Pain and the Great One, another Judy Blume series comes to mind) but I did find it striking that several of the best-loved children's books have brothers and sisters who are pretty far apart, age-wise.

Can you think of other fictional siblings with a big age gap?

Kindergarten, Here I Come... or Go!

Most books about a child's first experience with school (which used to be kindergarten, or even 1st grade, as in B is for Betsy, but is now most often preschool) focus on allaying the soon-to-be-student's fears.  Yes, mommy will go away, but she will come back, and while she's gone you will have so much fun you won't even miss her!  There are a number of fine books that take this approach, among them Llama Llama Misses Mama by Anna Dewdney and The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn, both of which focus on separation anxiety and Lucy Cousins' Maisy Goes to School and Maisy Goes to Preschool, which focus on the fun to be had.

But far more interesting to me are the ones that turn this paradigm on its head.  My two favorites involve kindergarten drop-outs.  In the chapter-book classic by Beverly Cleary, Ramona the Pest, Ramona had no fears to allay.  She was only too eager to follow in her big sister Beezus' footsteps and start kindergarten.  But one day, Ramona's beloved teacher Miss Binney tells her she cannot come to school unless she is ready to behave and refrain from pulling Susan's boingy-boingy curls.  Ramona, with refreshing honesty and self-awareness, tells Miss Binney she is unable to do this, and a kindergarten drop-out she becomes.  Ramona's stubbornness keeps her out of school for several days until, after receiving a letter from her teacher, she agrees to return. 

My kindergartener was delighted to discover that Ramona's class, like hers, is housed in a trailer behind the "main building."  Not only that, but Ramona's class had 29 children!  Apparently overcrowded schools and large class sizes are nothing new, although perhaps the parent and public consternation over it is.  Ramona's mother, Mrs. Quimby, certainly expresses no such concern.  Unlike Ramona in 1950s-60s Oregon, however, my daughter does not walk to school herself.

Ramona the Pest is the second (depending on how you count) in this eight-book series which was, remarkably, written over a span of 44 years.  In my opinion these books stand the test of time and I am enjoying them as much, if not more, as I did when I read them the first time.  My daughter seems to agree (although I was dismayed to learn recently that a friend of mine does not), as she and I are on our second cycle of reading the entire series at her request.  I was so pleased (and impressed) when she pointed out that

My daughter's Ramona

upon rereading "you can notice things you didn't notice the first time."  With some gentle questioning (i.e. interrogation), I discovered that she had learned this bit of wisdom from her beloved kindergarten teacher.  She recently named a doll/Purim grogger (noisemaker) that she made Ramona in honor of the series' well-meaning but impulsive, creative and mischievous heroine. 

Ramona and Beezus was the first (and so far the only!) movie my rather sensitive daughter has seen in a theatre.  Despite my aversion to movies based on books, I thought it was a well-done, age-appropriate adaptation and relatively enjoyable for parents, as kids' movies go.  The author herself was pleased with much of the movie, although she disapproved of some moments that were not faithful to the text.  Since the movie is an amalgam of events taken from the entire series, I'd advise reading all the books before seeing it, if you're, like me, a stickler for that sort of thing.

More subversive is Amy Schwartz's Bea and Mr. Jones. Five-year-old Bea and her dad, Mr. Jones, switch places.  Bea goes off to work at an ad agency and Mr. Jones goes to kindergarten.  But instead of this reversal making them appreciate their "proper" places in life, they both discover they love their new lives.  And there they stay, with Bea thinking up ad campaigns and jingles and Mr. Jones acing the colored lollipop game and making good use of his height and excellent motor skills.

Finally, First Day Jitters by Julie Danneberg is a more traditional entry in the school anxiety genre.  But even this one has a surprise ending.  The protagonist, whom we do not see fully until the end of the book, reluctantly drags herself out of bed, certain she will hate her new school.  The last page reveals that this unwilling school-goer is... the teacher!