October 16, 2014 § 4 Comments
“Mommy, you know how those witch hats got there?” my four year old casually ventured, as we walked through the Halloween section of our local variety store. Then, before I could answer, she stopped and turned towards me, her expression suddenly serious. “The witches dropped them,” she whispered.
I love October. Not for the costumes, or the weeks of planning that go into them (read: daily changing of minds). Not for the candy, which I can never get out of the house fast enough. I love it for its air of anticipation. That mysterious, slightly uneasy, could-it-might-it-be-real feeling that pokes at the back of our minds. As the evenings darken, the wind picks up, and the creaks on the roof grow louder, the lines between real and imaginary begin to get a little messy. You might say that for these few weeks, we get a taste of the way our kids feel all year long.
Indeed, many of my favorite “Halloween” stories to share with my kids are, in fact, not about Halloween at all—which means (hooray) that they can be enjoyed all 365 days. I’m referring to gems like Creepy Carrots, The Monsters’ Monster, and Vampirina Ballerina. This year’s newcomer is I Am a Witch’s Cat (Ages 2-6), by Harriet Muncaster: a simple picture book narrated in the voice of a little girl, who loves to dress up like a little black cat, because she believes her mother to be a witch (“but I don’t mind, because she is a good witch”). « Read the rest of this entry »
February 26, 2014 § 6 Comments
The lovely new picture book, ExtraOrdinary Jane (Ages 3-100), by first time author-illustrator Hannah E. Harrison, has me all fired up—but in a good way. Jane, a fluffy little white circus dog, “was ordinary, in a world that was extraordinary.” She isn’t “mighty” like her elephant-lifting father, or “graceful” like her ballerina mother. She isn’t “daring” enough to be shot out of a cannon like her six canine brothers. Try as she does to “find her special talent,” she encounters either mediocrity (her paintings lack “pizzazz”) or failure (her musical renditions send others running).
While the book may be set in a circus, its poignant, carefully worded message is clearly intended to transcend the Big Top. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be ordinary in our increasingly supercharged, achievement-obsessed society. Bringing up kids today means confronting talent at seemingly every turn: the athlete that tears down the soccer field; the six year old who is already in her third year of violin; the kid who reads at three grade levels above her peers. It’s not enough for children to be good at something; they are expected to be the best. When I was growing up, it wasn’t until I was applying to college that I was asked to think about the concept of “expertise.” Today, the question is on preschool applications: “What special skills/talents does your child have?” « Read the rest of this entry »