Reading Poetry With Children

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.  -W.H. Auden

**You all know that I cannot help myself with the excessive typing in book roundups, so if you just want to skip ahead to the poetry suggestions, go right ahead. And if you even want to skip that, just go to Amazon and buy a bunch of books from the Poetry for Young People collection. Now, on to my post:**

I love words. I revere, respect, fear, glory in, and am blown away by the uses to which words can be put.
It's for this reason that I refuse to eat at Chick-Fil-A.  I do not think that they give words the respect that they deserve.  (Obviously there are many advertisements that upset me,  but Chick-Fil-A is seriously the worst. They treat their potential customers like idiots. I would like an establishment to assume that I am intelligent before I spend my money there. But now look, I've gone on a tangent. I'm afraid there may be many more of these to come throughout this post.)
Anyway.
I obviously am not an elegant writer. I do not always obey the rules of grammar or syntax. I use made-up words like thang, and sometimes I use curse words. But I use them as the occasion calls for, because different situations call for different words, that is why we have so many of them.
Now, before I start a new tangent, let me start in on my main topic!
POETRY.
I love poetry. Poetry is words being used the way they ought to be. 

I was raised in a home where poetry was read and cherished. I wrote poetry often, and from a young age. I studied English in college, which blissfully enabled me to take many courses that studied, dissected, and forced me to write poetry.
Just a few weeks ago, my dad and sister visited me. On a hike, my sister asked what the difference is between birch trees and aspens. My dad immediately said, "Birch trees are bent over from little boys swinging on them," a reference to Robert Frost's poem Birches. 
I think it was only natural then, for my children to be exposed often and early to poetry. Grey and Micah are four years old and have a love and familiarity with poetry already.
In the Charlotte Mason curriculum, educators are encouraged to read often from A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.
But here's the thing: A Child's Garden of Verses is only one small collection of one poet's work. And frankly, I don't even love Stevenson's poetry that much. When the boys and I first started reading poetry together, I very rarely pulled out that book.
Originally, I was going to call this post "Teaching your child to love poetry," but there's only one step in that process: Read [good] poetry to your child. 
So instead I wanted to share a collection of favorite poets for children.

First, some thoughts on poetry for children:

1. Funny is okay.
I don't know who first decided that in order for something to be important, valid, and good it needs to be serious- but it doesn't. Let your kids laugh at silly poems. Goofy rhymes and hilarious punch-lines will encourage your kids to enjoy and even write their own poems.

2. Your kids are smarter than you think.
Two year olds deserve more than The Cat in the Hat. Dr. Seuss is rubbish "poetry." E. B. White wisely said "Anyone who writes down to children is simply wasting his time. You have to write up, not down. Children are demanding. They are the most attentive, curious, eager, observant, sensitive, quick, and generally congenial readers on earth. They accept, almost without question, anything you present them with, as long as it is presented honestly, fearlessly, and clearly... Children are game for anything. I throw them hard words, and they backhand them over the net."
So don't just read them poetry "for children," instead, give them poetry for people. Kids are people too, and they can enjoy Robert Frost as well as you can.

3.  Find opportunities to share poetry together, a little at a time.
As with everything, start small and show that you're genuinely interested. When we first started reading poetry, it was because it was too late for stories before bedtime.
I would find myself saying, "We don't have time to read the Diggingest Dog. Can I just read you a poem?" Poems are short and poems are (often) silly. My kids would settle in, listen to a single poem and then go to sleep. Now I keep a book of poetry in our hiking backpack, so we can sit at the top of a mountain and read a few together, I keep one on the kitchen table so we can read some poems together while we eat breakfast, and I keep one on my bedside table so that I can read to myself, and share with my kids when they ask "What are you reading?"



Now if you love the idea of reading poetry with your kids, but don't know where to start- I included a poem from each of the ten authors I suggest. Read them, decide which ones you don't hate, and go check out 3-4 books from the library. Read a poem or two every morning over breakfast.
Suddenly, you're poetry people.


A. A. Milne:
“But it isn't easy,' said Pooh. 'Because Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is to go where they can find you.”

Milne, the author of Winnie the Pooh, also published multiple books of poetry for children. His books When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six are both widely accessible, and often come with the Winnie the Pooh books. I have a copy of The World of Christopher Robin that I've had since I was a little girl and is the first book of poetry I can remember sitting and reading by myself.

Daffodowndilly

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight 
and shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor,
"Winter is dead."

A.A. Milne


Roald Dahl:
Did you know that Roald Dahl wrote poetry in addition to his many books? He has published at least three books of poetry: Revolting Rhymes, Dirty Beasts, and Vile Verses. Another cherished book from my childhood is the Roald Dahl treasury, which contains dozens of poems, all so irreverent and hilarious that they hold my children's attention for an hour at a time. Most of his poems are long; short stories written in rhyme and rhythm. But here's a short one, written long ago to a child that wrote him a fan letter:

My teacher wasn't half as nice as yours seems to be.
His name was Mister Unsworth and he taught us history.
And when you didn't know a date he'd get you by the ear
And start to twist while you sat there quite paralysed with fear.
He'd twist and twist and twist your ear and twist it more and more.
Until at last the ear came off and landed on the floor.
Our class was full of one-eared boys. I'm certain there were eight.
Who'd had them twisted off because they didn't know a date.
So let us now praise teachers who today are all so fine
And yours in particular is totally divine.' 

Roald Dahl

Shel Silverstein:
You knew he was coming, right? Good ol' Shel. I think almost every child in America had a Shel Silverstein book on their shelf at one time, even if they weren't from poetry-loving families. Silverstein is so funny, and he uses words just the way that they should be used. In my experience, Silverstein is the author on this list that will convince your kids to write their own verse. Might as well buy them a rhyming dictionary now.

Snowball

I made myself a snowball
As perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas
And a pillow for its head.
  Then last night it ran away,
  But first—it wet the bed.

Shel Silverstein

Lewis Carroll:
The Jabberwocky is the first poem that the boys memorized. Okay, fine. They didn't totally memorize it. But they were definitely only three when they were begging to have it read over and over, and they would often shout while playing, “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” Again, another hilarious author- one who uses words beautifully- even inventing many of his own, something three-year-olds are really into.

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale! 

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws! 

Lewis Carroll

Ruyard Kipling:
The author of The Jungle Book also wrote many poems throughout his books, in Just So Stories, The Jungle Book and elsewhere. I recently snagged a copy of his poems for children at a thrift store and I've been excited to read these exciting adventure poems with my boys.

The White Seal 

      Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
        And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
      The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
        At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
      Where billow meets billow, then soft be thy pillow,
        Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
      The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
        Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas!

Ruyard Kipling

J.R.R. Tolkien:
Okay, you probably don't love Tolkien as much as I do, but if you happen to have read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings as many times as I have, you probably have a few good poems memorized! Tolkien told stories with his poems, and while there are many that focus around the mythical world he created, there are also dozens that are just plain funny or thoughtful and don't even have any elvish words in them!

The Road Goes Ever On

The Road goes ever on and on
   Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
   And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
   Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
   And whither then? I cannot say.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Robert Frost:
A poet that is easy to understand, Robert Frost delighted in images and stories of nature. His poems are always very thought-provoking and beautiful. He's one of the most famous of "recent" poets for a reason; Frost is a good poet for the average human being. Most of us can't get through Shakespeare, or even Walt Whitman - but almost everyone can read and enjoy Robert Frost. He is accessible, without sacrificing beauty of language.

Dust of Snow 

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

Robert Frost


Carl Sandburg
My favorite poet, I love Sandburg and was very excited recently to find a collection of Sandburg poems for children. Often funny, sarcastic, beautiful without being flowery, Sandburg (like all other poets)  loved people and loved this beautiful world. If you are an adult with or without children, you should also pick up a book of his work. Get ready to be blown away. (I love him so much.)

Summer Stars

Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars, 
So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars, 
Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl, 
So near you are, summer stars, 
So near, strumming, strumming, 

                So lazy and hum-strumming.

Carl Sandburg

Emily Dickinson
The first poem that I ever memorized was I'm Nobody by Emily Dickinson. I don't remember why I memorized it, if it was for a class at school or just because I loved it so much. Frankly, I think it's because I read all these books wherein the protagonist had poems memorized (Sam Gamgee, Anne Shirley,  even Robin Hood!) and I wanted to be included in this very diverse (but seemingly small) club of poem-memorizers.

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you Nobody too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d banish us you know!

How dreary to be Somebody!
How public like a Frog –  
To tell one’s name the livelong day  
To an admiring Bog!

Emily Dickinson

Robert Louis Stevenson
Okay, I've already mentioned that I don't love Stevenson nearly as much as A. A. Milne or Lewis Carroll- but the truth is, his poems for children are sweet, well-written and easily accessible. We do read them regularly, we just try to brach out a bit, too. (Ironic, maybe, because I LOVE his novels.)

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,
   Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
   Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
   Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
   Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,
   Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
   Up in the air and down!

Robert Louis Stevenson

One last word on poetry: Buy your children some beautifully written picture books. Where the Wild Things Are, The Owl Who Became the Moon, and The Little Blue Truck are all really just illustrated poems. I even was given a copy of When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer illustrated as a children's book and it's one of my favorite books of the boys'. It's so beautiful, that I'll end with that poem and a call to action:

Please, please, please: read your kids some poetry. I recently discovered the collections of Poetry for Young People and I want to buy every single volume. If you don't know anything about poetry, that's okay. There's not a lot to know. Just find authors that speak to you and that you can understand and never, ever read a poem inside your head if you can read it out loud.
These words are aching to be spoken aloud, theres a rhythm and dance to them, even when they don't rhyme. (For example...)
We are growing into a world that doesn't care about words, *enter emoji of a shrugging smily face* and we are creating children who think that "Hotline Bling" has acceptable lyrics. I legitimately believe that it won't be long before our kids can't even read Shakespeare, because it will be a different language than the one they speak. And truly, I do not love Shakespeare. I don't. But man, I love words- and he was the wordsmith. Don't let your children grow up without a love of words- and if you don't love words yet- start by reading poems aloud, the way that they're meant to be read.

(And remember what I just said? Read this aloud!)

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Walt Whitman

Why I Want to Homeschool {Pitchers Do School, Part One}

Growing up, I knew - just as all of you know- that homeschooled kids were weird. I only actually knew one family that was homeschooled, and they weren't weird- but that was definitely an exception to the rule.
Just like all kids that went to public school were totally normal and never awkward, all homeschool  kids were strange, unsocialized, overly religious, and did I mention weird?
And I'm not being sarcastic. I believed this to be true.

And yet, somehow- in the five years since I first starting feeling my little boys kick me in the gut, I've slowly and steadily realized something.
I'm homeschooling.
I have to homeschool.
I am compelled to homeschool.

When my mom started homeschooling my littlest sister last year, it cemented what I'd always known somewhere- I'm a home school mom, too.

A lot of bloggers and instagramers that I follow also homeschool, and while they may post samples of their schedules or links to their curriculum- they very rarely (if ever) write about their reasons for doing so. I am left to assume, as I usually do, that they homeschool for some bizarre religious reason. And when I tell people that I'm planning and hoping to home school, there's almost always a pregnant pause, and then "... Really? And why on earth would you want to do that?" or "Wow! What a great mom, I couldn't wait to get rid of my kids!"

So I wanted to talk about my reasons for homeschooling, share them with you so that people (including perhaps my own family and husband) can understand why I feel so compelled to have my children at home.
Just to be clear,
It's not for some bizarre religious reason.
It's not because I think the school system has failed.
It's not because I'm a really great mom, because I too feel regularly overwhelmed, exhausted, and ready to send the boys to grandma's house for the rest of the week.

The reason, is this:  Time is fleeting.

That's silly isn't it? I guess that's not the entire reason, but it's a big part of all the little reasons.
I just don't have enough time.

Let me try to explain:
I often tell people that in college, I studied Children's Literature. This is technically a big fat lie, since what I really studied was English and there's no children's lit emphasis. So I made one. Every optional course I chose was a children's lit course. My film class was a study of children's films, my writing courses were based around writing for young adults, and the american lit class I took was actually called something like American Coming-of-Age Novels.
I know what I love, what I'm passionate about and that, my friends, is children's literature. My budding library downstairs is over half-filled with children's chapter books, books I loved as a child or discovered as an adult. Each time I found another copy of The Secret Garden or Little House on the Prairie tucked between vampire romances at a used book store, I would bring it home and find a safe place on my bookshelf, imagining the day that I would read it to my children. When I finally decided that I loved and wanted to marry Travis, it broke my heart to give up a vision I'd created of my perfect future. That perfect future was this: Sitting inside my cozy home in Minnesota, snuggled up by a bright fireplace with all my dark-haired babies, reading Little Women aloud to them while a blizzard raged outside.
Of course, having given up that idealized vision, I have gained a new and better reality. Now I get to sit, snuggled up in my bed in Utah, with my little white-haired boys listening to me read Peter Pan while the rain patters against the windows.
It is the best and most perfect vision and experience of motherhood. It is everything I could possibly want. And I am not ready to give that up. 

I am not ready for them to leave every day at 8:30 to catch the bus, and to trudge home every day at 4. (Those are the actual times that our next door neighbor kids leave and arrive home each day.)
I can't do it. I love them too much. I want them too much.

If my children are gone from me from breakfast to dinner, when do we get to snuggle and read Charlotte's Web? When do I get to teach them to love Aslan and fear Voldemort?  When do we read and discuss the scriptures as a family? These books are important to me. They are significantly more important to me than anything that they will learn at school. Yep. I said it.
Okay, now my husband and Alissa are both panicking that I am going to read books to my kids all day instead of teaching them about the imports and exports of Botswana and the names of the different chambers in one's heart. Before I continue, let me say this: I promise to teach my kids all the things they would learn in school.

BUT, I am not just afraid of giving up reading together. I'm afraid of giving up family trips to Kenya when Travis has a month-long job there. I'm afraid of giving up piano lessons to homework. I'm afraid of giving up the chance to teach my children right and wrong when they make mistakes throughout the day.
I'm afraid of giving up hikes to the canyon on early fall mornings, and of imaginative play on snowy afternoons.  I'm afraid of letting my child learn about bullying and sex from their peers like I did.
I'm afraid of letting someone else teach my child the right way to apologize, work hard, sit still, treat their friends and show respect.
I know that I could teach them these things on the evenings and weekends, and I know many families successfully do. Please, please don't think that I believe I am a more dedicated parent than anyone who sends their child to school. I am not. I am normal and flawed and my kids drive me insane on the regular. I am not choosing to keep my kids home because I think I will do better job teaching than someone who went to college for teaching.
I am keeping my kids home because there are only a few short years when they are small, and I don't want to miss it. I want to fill up these years with watercolor paintings, and collecting eggs from the henhouse, with snuggling, and caped crusaders. With chores, and gardens, with making homemade jam and then eating it on everything. With reading together and browsing the library, with snowmen and homemade popsicles, and spontaneous trips to the seaside.
And if the only way that I can have those things is to homeschool? Then my children will be schooled at home, thank you very much.
Time is fleeting and so, I am compelled to homeschool.

Because I am new to this and because I am slowly preparing to start school - I am going to post semi-regularly (for a while) about homeschooling things and I hope you'll bear with me.
Next up (I think): types of homeschool curriculum and my plans for teaching my kids all the things.

Books to Read in Autumn

Delicious Autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth, seeking the successive autumns. 

It is September, and suddenly the mountains are red and orange, the days are grey and drizzley, and we need to wear sweaters and slippers around the house. To the rest of the world, this apparently means Pumpkin Spice Lattes, but at my house, it means The Witch of Blackbird Pond.

If this is your first time ever on my blog, you might not know that I am a book rereader. (If, however, you have stumbled here even once before- you probably know this.)

I would almost always rather read an old book than a new. Although I recently read a quote by C.S. Lewis where he said that if you're reading two new books, you ought to read an old one in between. I'm trying to make that my new regime, one old book, one new book, one old book, one new book. 

And in case the drop in the temperature has you looking for fall appropriate books: I've got you covered. 

Note: These books are entirely classics and/or children's books. 

And yes, I think that adults should read as many books for children as they can- even if they don't have little ones to read to. 

My themes for fall reading tend to be the following: books about back-to-school, books about the harvest, books that are spooky, and books about witches. 

As far as spooky goes, I tend to lean towards creepy/suspenseful and far away from actually horrifying or scary. 

Also, I don't want to really give anything away. I love reading books with no preconceived notions of them. So don't read the back of the book. Don't read the blurb on Amazon. Just trust that I am an excellent book-recommender and go pick these up today. 

1. The Witch of Blackbird Pond - "Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her. The dried brown leaves crackled beneath her feet and gave off a delicious smoky fragrance. No one had ever told her about autumn in New England. The excitement of it beat in her blood. Every morning she woke with a new confidence and buoyancy she could not explain. In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.” 

The story of a teenage-girl in New England during the years of witch-burnings. One of my very favorite historical fictions and perfect to read with your kids, especially if they are 9-11. 

2. The Crucible - "Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven."

Another book about witch-trials, this is actually a play- written as a the transcript in court. This is very short and can be read in a few hours - the PDF of it is surely available for free online. SO GOOD, you guys. And so creepy. (Again, though. When I say "so creepy," please keep in mind that I still can't read Goosebumps, so take that with a grain of salt.)

3. The Graveyard Book - “You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you can change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over. You've made what you've made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.” 

A children's book by Neil Gaiman, this book is not really spooky or creepy- just wonderful! It's a modern spin on the Jungle Book, but instead of being raised by animals, the little stray child is raised by ghosts. 

4. Coraline - “We have teeth and we have tails

We have tails, we have eyes

We were here before you fell

We will be here when you rise.” 

Unlike the Graveyard Book, Coraline IS creepy and spooky. I would HIGHLY recommend listening to the audiobook of this over reading it (which is something I rarely recommend.) This is the story of a little girl, dissatisfied with her life, finding out that perfection isn't actually better. Amazing. 

5. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde- “If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also.” 

Oh, how I wish I had not known the premise of this book! Reading for the first time was not unlike reading a Sherlock Holmes story- it was a mystery to be solved! And it's GOOD, so much better than any adaptation of it. The story of a man trying to self-medicate his own mental problems. Brilliant. 

6. Frankenstein- “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” 

Again, so much better than adaptations! This isn't the story of a mad scientist, it's the story of an unloved and unlovable man trying to find love. Yes. I said it. Frankenstein is a love story.  

7. Rebecca- “Men are simpler than you imagine my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted, tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone.” 

Holy crap, you guys. I picked this up at a used bookstore, believing it to be a traditional classical romance. It is not. It is so suspenseful and creepy, a mystery and a "love-story" and go get it asap. 

8. Witches- "In fairy-tales, witches always wear silly black hats and black cloaks, and they ride on broomsticks.

But this is not a Fairy-tale. This is about REAL WITCHES.

The most important thing you should know about REAL WITCHES is this. Listen very carefully. Never forget what is coming next.

REAL WITCHES dress in ordinary clothes and look very much like ordinary women. They live in ordinary house and they work in ORDINARY JOBS.

That is why they are so hard to catch.

A REAL WITCH hates children with a red-got sizzling hatred that is more sizzling and red-hot than any hatred you could possibly imagine."

Roald Dahl's scariest kid's book in my opinion. Whether or not you read this book as a child, it's time to read it again. This book will teach you how to identify the terrifying witches in disguise all around you... Although, maybe it's better not to know. 

9. Fantastic Mr. Fox- "I should like you to know that if it wasn't for your father we should all be dead by now. Your father is a fantastic fox." Mr. Fox looked at his wife and she smiled. He loved her more than ever when she said things like that. 

Not spooky! Just autumny! The story of an arrogant fox that just wants to steal from farmers who deserve it. This book is perfect for kids 3+ It was the first chapter book my kids sat through, and it will only take you an afternoon to read.

10. A Wrinkle in Time- “Believing takes practice.” 

From the first line "It was a dark and stormy night," this book just gets better. It's creepy at times, but mostly it's an adventure story about love, family, being weird, and all those awesome coming-of-age themes. Another good book for anyone 9-11, or older. Or anyone! 

Look! An even ten books! That was an accident. I just started going and made it to ten!

Last book is one I haven't read yet: I'm finally tackling Dracula. I'm extremely excited to sink my fangs into it! 

(Stop. Sometimes I like puns. Just deal with it.)

Any other favorite fall books? Please leave them in the comments. To my husband's grief, I'm always looking to expand "the library."

This post contains affiliate links. If you buy one of these books through my link, I might get moneys. I promise to use any money to buy more books to recommend to you. What a great deal for both of us! 

However, if you're cheap like me and love used books, you should check Thriftbooks.com first, and I don't even get any money for sending you there. (They even have a 15% off sale right now.)

"If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales"

Lately my kids have fallen completely in love with reading. It's the greatest thing ever, and as far as I'm concerned- I've succeeded as a mother and accomplished almost all of my parenting goals. (Now that I'm done raising my children, I'm looking for some new hobbies.)

The boys each got a big, fat book of fairy tales for Valentine's Day this year (books for Valentine's Day is one of my favorite family traditions.) and I've loved reading them together. (This one and this one.)
The boys will ask to hear new stories and we will read them together, and then they'll ask me to retell them whenever we're in the car or somewhere else without their books.
I've been trying to get the boys to tell the stories to me, but they were so half-hearted! ("Okay, a princess comes to a castle in the rain and sleeps in a bed with a pea. She can feel the pea, so she's a princess. The End.")

Until I had an epiphany! I actually wrote down- word for exact, brilliant word- my kids' versions of their favorite stories. Now we can read their versions of the books instead of Hans Christian Andersen's or The Brothers Grimm. Grey and Micah are so proud of their stories and so am I!

I am amazed by all the little literary phrases Grey put in (like he was reciting from an actual book!), like "a tear ran down the frog's face." And I love the way Micah clarifies through out his story- like when he explains to the reader that the witch has a wood burning stove, and that's why she could be pushed into it and cooked.
So, here you go. Here are some real children's stories for your enjoyment.

The Princess and The Frog, retold by Grey:

Once there was a Princess, and her was playing catch and her dropped it in the water.
A frog appeared and said, "If you let me come to your palace last year, I can get it."
So the frog got the golden ball, and the princess ran away.
There was a knock at the castle door. It was the frog!
The frog was hungry and decided to ate on her plate.
It was dark and the princess jumped on her bed and the frog hopped on her bed too. The Princess throwed the frog at the wall, and a tear ran down his face.
"Give me a kiss!" he said.
"No! You are gross, and I am afraid to turn into a frog!"
"Please!"
"Okay. I will."
So the Princess kissed the top of of his head and PAWALOOP! the wicked spell was broked and the frog was a handsome prince. They happily lived ever after and she married the frog prince, but he wasn't a frog anymore!


And Hansel and Gretel, retold by Micah

Once there was a brother and sister, and the mean stepmother decided to put them in the woods and kill them!
But Hansel put little white stones on the floor and followed it back to their house. But then they followed it to a house made of candy!
"Who's nibbling on my house?" It was a grandma.
But the Grandma was very a witch!*
She put Hansel in a cage. The witch wanted to eat him! She wanted to feel how fat a hand he was getting, so Hansel sticked out a chicken bone (because she ate a chicken.)
She felt how skinny the chicken bone was.
The witch decided to eat him right now! She told the sister to stick her head in the fire and feel how hot it was. Then Gretel pushed the witch in! She had a fire-oven with a chimney!
Gretel got Hansel out by a key by the witch's pocket. And they had gold and candy for them to eat. They got back to the house after that.
The end.



*Micah uses very and really interchangeably, which is adorable. It makes sense to say "I'm very/really hungry!" but less sense when he tells me, "I am very Luke Skywalker!"

"Even I never dreamed of Magic like this!"

(a friend recently left that quote from The Magician's Nephew on a photo of mine on Instagram, and I've been thinking about it since...)

I love books. I love them so much. Some of my dearest friends are the characters in books, and most of my non-book friends are book-lovers with whom I have bonded over a love of leather bound stories, adventures, and words.
And somehow (unaccountably!) I fell in love with a man who didn't love reading the same way that I do. He does read and enjoy it, but not the same books or with the same interests as me.
When we were dating, I convinced him to read the Harry Potter books. (He was still trying to win me, so I had sway over him!) In the five years since we were married, I've regularly asked him to read the Lord of The Rings. And he's repeatedly refused. Finally, on our last roadtrip (to Arizona over Thanksgiving), I brought The Fellowship of the Ring in my purse and -having him now as a captive audience- I started reading aloud.
It was (obviously) a huge success. And now, we are part-way through The Two Towers. We read it every time we are in the car together. I read it to him while he washes dishes.
And when we watched the Fellowship movie together and he would say, "Huh. Why did they do it this way?" or "I like the way they did that in the book better," my heart was about ready to explode with martial bliss.
I love, love, love books- and the only thing better than reading books to myself, is sharing them with people that I love.


When I was pregnant and the boys were little, Travis would say these little offhand things about books that would send me into panic-attack mode. Things like, "Well, maybe the boys won't like reading that much."
Like they had some sort of choice in the matter! And, not being a boy and not understanding how Travis could dislike reading (maybe it was genetic?), I've always been a bit worried. Maybe they wouldn't like reading. Maybe I would read to them for hours and hours and hours when they were babies and it would have no effect whatsoever.
Maybe they would see me snuggled up on the couch, curled around a novel with silent tears pouring down my face (not an uncommon sight) and they wouldn't even feel curious as to why I was quietly sobbing over a collection of yellowed paper.
Maybe their tendency for tearing up Dr. Suess books and eating them wasn't a babyish desire to destruct and explore, but actually a deep-seated hatred for poetry.
And then, I had them. And they were wild and busy and hyper. And they couldn't sit still and listen to me read The BFG when they were 18 months old. And they wanted to look at pictures, and didn't care for books that described what kind of food pioneers ate, and they were normal little boys.
But they loved books.
They loved comic books about Batman and sound-effect books about diggers, sure. But they loved them.
And then they started to love books about Robin Hood and knights. They were interested in books about why volcanos explode. They picked out Fantastic Mr. Fox off the book shelf and then let me read it to them, even though there weren't any pictures.
And I realized that it was okay that the little girl downstairs is the same age and has listened rapturously to Alice in Wonderland and all the Chronicles of Narnia when my kids could barely handle multiple Frog and Toad books in a row.
Because the thickness of the books they love isn't any sort of proof about their intelligence. I'm an adult, and my favorite book is The Secret Garden.
And on New Year's Eve the boys and I picked The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe off of their very-crowded bookshelves. And they were so engrossed and excited, and when Edmund saw the queen ride up in her sleigh, Micah cried, "Oh no! Is it really the White Witch?" and Grey said, "Did she kill Lucy?" and I realized that they were paying attention and loving it.
And they said those beautiful words that I love to hear more than almost any words I've ever heard, "Please, Mom! Just one more chapter!"

And at bed after they each get to pick out a book, Grey usually requests, "Now read us some poems!" and we pull out Shel Silverstein, Roald Dahl, or Robert Louis Stevenson and they listen raptly and (I'm sure) don't take in any of the meaning, but the rhythm of the words. And it is probably just a bedtime-stalling-tactic, but I'll take it.

Now, every time that we are in the car (to my sometimes annoyance) the boys beg, "Tell us a story!" and they request Fairy Tales (Hansel and Gretel! Little Red Riding Hood!) or they ask for another story of their favorite character, (Robin Hood! Sam the Hobbit! Daddy, when he was little like us!)
It's everything I hoped it would be.
Even if sometimes we read a chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Grey says, "Can we watch this movie?"
"This isn't a movie, it's a book."
"I know. But isn't there a movie about it?"
"Hmm. I don't think so. Sorry about that, guess we'll just have to read it if we want to find out what happens to Lucy and Mr. Tumnus. "

(We all agreed at parenting class that white-lies for their own good are okay, right?)

And I have a house full of books, and tiny book people to match. (Now I just need some book-scented candles and we're good to go!)

On Books

I.
I am book-lender. I love books. The way they reach in your soul, and move around your heart. And I love people. Generally speaking, I am a good friend. I am genuinely interested in the trials and triumphs of the people around me. When loved-ones move, I try to keep in touch. When people are struggling, I want (and try) to lift them up. I never quite took up letter-writing, but I think if I didn't have such an easily accessible cell-phone, that would be my medium.
And since books bring me inexpressible comfort and joy- I want to share them with everyone. (I have an extremely difficult time buying gifts for non-book readers, since the only gifts I know how to give well are books.)
When people come in to my home, and casually say about book on my shelf, "I've been wanting to read that," I am quick to pull it down and press it to them. If someone mentions that they don't like reading, I find my brain tumbling through book-covers, searching for the one's that I know they'll fall for. And when I read books that make me think of certain people, I can barely wait to finish the last page so I can drop it off on someone's step. I want my friends to read what I love.
And sometimes they give books back, and I am jubilant to hear that they loved it like I knew they would. I want to burst into tears when they describe their love for the characters or the way their heart swelled at their triumphs.
But more often, I don't get books back. And I forget who had them.
And I look at my shelves and think, "Wait. I thought I owned a copy of..."
I bet I lose over half a dozen books a year, by forcing people to borrow them. Oh well. I guess that's my own fault.

II.
A couple days ago I told a friend that I didn't like "art for art's sake," and since then I've been dwelling on that statement and feeling like I need to defend it.
Because I love art, but I like it best with a purpose. Art that defends, art that draws the eye to a problem and calls for change. Art that beautifies, that reminds us that there is good in the world and in people. Art that praises and uplifts, Art that is a song to our creator. Art that relieves, that is an outlet and respite from the every day. Art that comforts, that warms the heart with reminders that things aren't so bleak as they may seem.
When I told my friend that I didn't like art for art's sake, I was referring to a book that I didn't like. It is kind of a miserable book, filled with disaffection, unhappiness, drugs, etc. And frankly, I don't want to read that crap. If there is an uplifting ending, a call to arms, perhaps, a character who changes for the better- encouraging the reader to believe that they too can change and that the world isn't so bad after all... then maybe I'm interested.
But if not, why read that book? I don't care that if it shines a mirror on the world, I don't care if it's thrilling.
I've noticed that most of my own creative outlets are very useful. I don't make art for it's own sake. I make quilts, food, and knitted hats. Things that are beautiful, creative, require some small level of skill- and which warm, comfort, and sustain the people I love. Even my photography is like that. I don't care so much for the beauty of the photos as for their use. I want them to document my life and my children.
Looking at other mediums of art, I think I follow suit with this theme. (Although, to clarify, I do think that being beautiful or making you feel are both valid purposes of art.)
I didn't reason this out for very long, though - so I'm sure that someone will immediately and easily poke holes in this theory of mine.

III.
Recently, we had friends over for dinner - someone I hadn't seen in years, since we took a writing class together in college. At one point she asked me, "So, are you writing at all these days [and my stomach dropped], or do you also cringe when people inevitably ask you that question?"
Um. Yes. That one. The cringing and not writing one.
Aaaaauuurrrrrrrggggghhhhh. Bleccch. I should write. I love to write.  I'm even quite good at writing!
An agent at a writing conference once read part of my novel and said, "I'm interested in representing this, send me the whole thing by the end of the summer."
That was three summers ago. Wanna know what happened? A big, fat nothing. I didn't ever email him and say, "Sorry I'm the worst, but I haven't worked on this book in years and won't for several more."
But I have three little people underfoot, so when I have time for a little relaxation and art-therapy- it doesn't get to be sitting in the non-distracting silence at my computer. It gets to be at the sewing machine with two people on my lap and maybe one person asleep or building a lego tower.  They are talking or fighting or making noises like farts, and I don't have to think - I just sew it (relatively) straight lines, and then look! I made something pretty.
But writing? Ain't nobody got time for that.

IIII.
I am a book rereader. You know this. Sometimes, people like my husband will say "Why are you rereading this book again? You already know what happens!"
And I always think, "Many of my friends live in books."
I don't reread the Lord of the Rings because I can't remember if Frodo ever makes it to the cracks of Mount Doom or not. I read it because it is beautiful. I read it because the joy and grief, the love and friendship, the death and always-enduring life make my heart ache in the best way. I reread for the steady wisdom of Aragorn, the unfailing courage of the hobbits, and the reminder that hard things are not only possible, they're worth it.
I need those reminders, and I love the characters who give them to me. And didn't I mention before that I am a good friend? I am. And once I love someone (even someone fictional), I have a hard time forgetting about them. I want to keep in touch. And if they can't visit me, I guess I have to visit them in their stories.


V.
Children's books are better than books for adults.
You already know that I feel this way, I'm sure. There are many reasons for that, in my opinion. But here are some of the reasons I've been thinking of lately.
1. Children are braver than adults. 
I do not mean to say that children perform more daring feats or face more impressive dangers (although they often do, since children's books also tend to be more fantastical). I guess I mean that they have greater moral courage. They tend to have integrity. Protagonists in children's book fight for what they believe is right, almost always- no matter what. They don't worry about how things will look, how action might affect them negatively, or how difficult things will be. They do what is right and what is hard without a lot of hemming, hawing, and lip-chewing.

2. Children's books can have perfect characters. 
In books for adults there are very, very rarely perfect characters, characters who are brave, kind, and good merely because they want to be. In books for adults, characters who are brave are compensating for something, if they are kind it is out of guilt, and if they are good they are deluded. Everyone has ulterior motives, everyone has an ugly past, and characters are complex and many-faceted. Of course, that is more realistic. In life, people are not merely cardboard cutouts of good people and bad people, but I think it's important for us to remember that some people are good, many people, in fact. There are adults who are always kind to children (and not because they want to lure them into a back room.)
In children's books, the children are flawed, yes. And most of the adults are flawed.
But Harry needed to know that there were mothers like Mrs. Weasley in the world. Anne Shirley needed Mathew Cuthbert. Little Laura Ingalls needed her Pa, and Jo! Jo March needed Marmee.
And we need them, too. To remind us that we can be good, kind, and brave. We can still "grow up" and be better.

3. Children have manageable flaws. 
I read children's books, and the flaws and weakness that kids have are the flaws and weaknesses that I have. They are selfish and unkind, they are lazy or frightened, they are unsure, easily hurt, or lonely. Perhaps they are overly dramatic or fight with their sister. And their challenges make them better.
In books for adults? I mean, maybe I'm living a life of ease (I am. I know this.)
But I'm not addicted to drugs, I'm not struggling under mountains of debt, neither my husband nor I is unfaithful, and I have never been sexually assaulted.
So, even though I have problems like everyone else in the world, and even though I am pretty heavily flawed - I'd like to focus on those persistent little wickednesses I have (like being an accidental bully or speaking thoughtlessly), and apparently the people I have the most in common with are twelve year-olds. But if they can be better - so can I.

VI.
I keep trying to get my kids into specific books. At the library, I almost had them convinced that what they wanted to check-out were the non-fiction picture books about cowboys and the Wild West. Picture books that showed photos of saddles, teepees, and long-horn bulls with captions about each.
And then, they saw the posters up over the graphic novel section.
"Look, Mom! BATMAN!" "WOMAN WOMAN, MOM! There's a picture of Woman Woman!" (Wonder Woman, FYI).
They have never even seen a "superhero" show besides the Incredibles, but they know all their superheroes somehow anyway.
So we made our way over to the comics. We left with two comics each, Batman, Spider man, Wonder Woman and Scooby Doo, and not a single book about cowboys. (I was really hoping that going to the recent rodeo in SLC would have made them interested in lassoing bulls and riding bucking broncos.)
Part of me cringes and groans that my kids want to read comic books (and not even good comics, like Calvin and Hobbes!), but mostly I'm accepting it. My kids can be into whatever books they want, as long as they're into books. I love to see them reading, so if the books must be about fighting crime - so be it.

VII.
We went to Barnes and Nobel to play with the train set in the Children's Book section. I wandered about the aisles looking for books that I wanted, but shouldn't buy. Then I remembered that I'd been wanting a specific book, and when I'd ordered a copy online - I'd gotten the wrong version. I decided to ask for it, since I wasn't sure where it would be. It was collection of essays, but I didn't see a NonFiction section.
"I'm looking for a collection of essays by E.B. White," I said to a person at a desk, whose name tag said  something like Customer Service. "Would it be under Fiction / Literature, or would is there another section I can try?"
The woman looked slightly panicked at being asked a question.
"Is it... fiction or non-fiction?" she asked.
"Well, it's a collection of essays, so non-fiction. If it was fiction, I think they'd be considered short-stories, right?"
She didn't answer. Instead she went to her computer. She asked for the book title again.
"I think it's just, The Collected Essays of E.B. White," I said.
"We do have one copy," she said, and she took off weaving through aisles with me at her heels.

She pulled from the shelves a copy of The Elements of Style by E.B. White and William Strunk. There was a picture of an old man at a type writer on the cover. She handed the book to me.
"This is not the book I wanted," I said. "I wanted a collection of Essays. This is about writing."
"Well," said the woman, "this is the only book we have by her in the store."
She turned and walked away. And I think I stood rooted to the spot for several long moments.
I felt like Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail, when she's in Fox Books listening to incompetent sales people try to help readers.
I went back to my children in the kid's section. I passed several copies of The Trumpet of the Swan and Stewart Little. And a gigantic cardboard cutout of Wilbur and Fern watching a spider spell out words in her web.

Daddy Book

As you may remember, there is a favorite parent at our house and it is not me.
The boys love their Dad so much, but he has to travel about a week out of every month - sometimes taking long trips for 2 or 3 weeks at a time. They have such a hard time with it!
Last time Travis left, someone suggested I make the boys a little book to look at about how Daddy has to go to work.
I started putting together ideas, and soon I had a full-fledged picture book on my hands!
The book is an 8x8" hard-cover, 20-page book printed off Shutterfly. I had a coupon for a free book, so this baby only cost me shipping! Yeah!
What do you think? It's become one of our favorite bedtime stories.

Thinking about my old (young) friend...

As a teenager with a love of books, I frequently went to bookstores seeking out "new" old classics.
It gave me a gloriously pretentious  feeling to buy and force my way through Plato's Republic, or Les Miserables. Of course, I hated those particular books and only read them so I could say that I had.
Other books, like Little Women, the Count of Monte Cristo, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and The Scarlet Letter were like honey to me. Oh, classics! How I loved them. I found many on my parents' shelves and sought out many on my own.

I still remember one specific conversation I had with a Barnes and Noble employee when I was about 16. I had never read Peter Pan, but loved the Disney movie (and Hook), and wanted to get my hands on the classic, but wasn't sure who wrote it or when it had been written.
So I sought out the knowledge of a bookkeeper.

Me: I'm looking for the original Peter Pan book.
Bookkeeper: We have several illustrated kids' books of the Disney version.
Me: Okay, but I don't want that. I want the original. Isn't it a classic?
Bookkeeper: Actually, I don't think so. I think it's just an old fairy tale without an original author, something just passed on verbally like the Little Mermaid.
Me: Oh. Really? I thought... Okay. Will you at least check for a oldish version of it for me?
Bookkeeper: Sure. (Typing) Theres a book called "Peter and the Starcatchers" by Dave Barry.
(I stood there for several seconds, trying to decide if Dave Barry sounded familiar enough for this to possibly be the original book about Neverland.)
Me: Sure, let's try that.

Soon after I got back home (with Peter and the Starcatchers in hand), I remembered that the Little Mermaid actually had an author, Hans Christian Andersen.
Then I read about one page in Peter and the Starcatchers and realized that it had come out earlier that year.
I began to suspect that I had dealt with an idiot at the book store.

But with a charming new book in hand, I found I didn't mind terribly.

A bit after that, I saw Finding Neverland (and obviously loved it and cried through the whole thing). But I learned that Peter Pan was a play and a book by James Barrie.
So I found the book for real.
And I read it.
A friend told me yesterday that she finally saw the Disney movie.
For the first time.
She cried of course, because Peter Pan is the greatest story of all time- even the watered-down and altered kids' version.
I've been thinking about Peter a lot this week anyway, since it's fall.
I would say that I always think of Peter Pan in the fall- except that I also always think of him in the spring. And the summer and winter.

With every season, and change of the weather.

A couple years ago, when I was still at school- I still had yet to buy my own copy of Peter Pan (I kept waiting, wanting the perfect book- not just some ol' paperback with a picture of a redheaded kid on it.) So I periodically checked out the novel or play from the library to reread.
This time, I got the play. It was an old hard cover book, highlighted and scribbled in by many students over the years (theater kids and English kids alike, it seemed.)
That in itself drew me to that copy of the play. I love a book that's been written in, especially by someone else. Full of their little notes, and underlinings. Hearts in the margins, or instructions like, "said in despair."
I mean.
Sigh.

The front said "Peter and Wendy," which is my favorite thing for it to say (sometimes it says that, sometimes it says "Peter Pan," but let's be honest. This isn't a play about Peter Pan. This is a play about Wendy and Peter together.)

Anyway. I grow distracted.
The inside cover had an old date on it. And the words "First Edition."
And after a little googling and verifying and gasping and realizing, I figured out that the copy I had picked up from the library was the best thing I'd ever held in my hands.
I kept renewing it. I kept it extremely late and overdue.
I got angry letters from the library and spent a lot of time trying to decide if I should just keep it and pay the forty dollar fee for lost books.
Oh! How I wanted to.
I wanted that book!
But some part of me just couldn't do it.
This was a little secret, a treasure that I had for a while.
And then I had to give it up.

Trust me, the poetic beauty of only having it for a season was not lost on me.

I was Wendy. The book would forget me, I hadn't even left my own notes in the margins.
But I think about it sometimes.

Maybe someday, my kids will go to BYU and check out the old play, "Peter and Wendy," (perhaps because they're feeling nostalgic for their mom.)
And they'll get this book. The one I remember, held, and loved. With it's little black, worn cover and soft pages from being turned by hundreds of people who were seeking out Neverland.