Stephen Fry Kinetic Typography - Language

Kids' Books Are Like Kids: Short, Sweet, and Amusing

There is something perfectly satisfying about a book that can be completed in a matter of minutes, can be read in words or in pictures, can come in all shapes and sizes, and, like poetry, distills meaning down to the exact words necessary to portray the best version of the story. Entire, albeit small, worlds come to exist in the limited pages of kids' books. Realities that comfort with their familiarity or amaze with their creativity, but almost always point out just how exciting everyday objects and situations can be with a little imagination. Above all, children's book may be simple, repetitive, or silly, but they are never boring.

My nephew enjoying a good book

Here are a few of my favorites from my childhood bookshelf that now have a permanent home in my son's library.

One Monster After Another written and illustrated by Mercer Mayer.
Generally, the stories that stand the test of time are the good ones. This book was first published in 1974, has been on my family's bookshelf since the early 80s, survived my siblings and me (with a little masking tape), my niece and nephew, and now, with a little more tape, it should make it through my children. It has been a favorite of mine since before it was mine; the inscription proves it was a gift from my uncle to my sister. This book is oversized; it takes up your whole lap, allowing the illustrations to lead your eye down the windy road and over the knobbly hill into the next page. The trees are gnarly and intricate and there's a dozen entertaining details on every page to amused parent and child alike. There is plenty of action (aided by onomatopoeic verbs and a heaping spoonful of humor) and a happy ending that leaves the reader wanting to know what happens next. Near perfection. See also Frog Goes to Dinner.

Introducing our 2 month old son to Tintin

The Adventures of Tintin written and illustrated by Herge.
My husband wooed me with Tintin. I grew up only ever having read one of the series (a gift from father on a trip to a big city second-hand book store which I valued more because it was from him than for the content). But Mike grew up reading Tintins from the library. The first summer we were living in our own place, we read all the Tintin books. We'd bicycle to the park, lay out a blanket under the willows by the lake and he would read Tintin's adventures aloud to me, and you better believe he did all the voices. You should hear his Madame Castafiore! Needless to say, we're big fans of the series and can't believe a movie has still never been made.

The Animal Family written by Randall Jarrell and illustrated by Maurice Sendak.
This is a true story book. The few pictures (more decorations than illustrations) don't ever portray the characters, just the scenery. How a hunter, a mermaid, a bear, and a lynx can all live together in a cabin is left up to the reader's mind, though the words never allow you to find the circumstances odd, just enchanting. I read this book at least once a year.

Blackboard Bear written and illustrated by Martha Alexander.
I have a box set called Four Bears in A Box and I can't seem to ever read just one book. They are tiny books, about 4" x 4.5", the drawings are perfectly minimal and adorable without being overly precious, and despite the simple trajectory of the stories, I reveled in the boy's victory as much when I was first reading the story as I do now.

All in an Unpaved Alley

I do get it sometimes: something

for nothing, freedom

walking in an unpaved alley

in a paved-over city.

Off kilter fences, slats leaning

this way and that. Painted, peeling,

garages. Gravel

and untended greenery.

Garbage and thorns

and sometimes

even a berry or two.

Sometimes: a reminder of what I used to know

I wanted, hard to find

now that I’m here.

Sometimes: a sense of what came before,

how this place was.

All the neighbors and kids

that have existed here
washed away like the gravel underfoot,

shifting unnoticed by the people

who see it everyday.

Cozying

Present participle of co·zy (verb)

1. Impart a feeling or quality of comfort to something.

2. Give someone a feeling of comfort or complacency.

It is officially cozy season: the harvest moon was this week, the 78 cents a pound local spartan apples are in stores, condensation is gathering on my single-pane windows, and I'm wearing socks around the house trying to escape the cacophony of competing leaf blowers exhaling dead flora from one neighbors lawn to another and back again as the wiry yard maintenance men keep each other in business.
And I suppose I do find myself feeling rather comfortable and complacent. As soon as I realized that the hot season was over I started jogging, only to discover a week later, that the rainy season had arrived just in time to dampen my zest. Now as much as I love how running in the rain makes my cells tingle, my new rubber boots are simply more enticing than running shoes and darn hard to jog in.
I'm 6 months into motherhood and I've been dismayed at how this stay-at-home parenting gig has really hindered my ambition. My greatest aspirations have whittled down to writing a small amount every day, providing my family with healthful flavorful meals every night, and having three more babies in the next six years. Pretty reasonable, no? 

At least I am writing every day. Some days I put something downright mundane in the agenda I'm using as an alternative to the traditional baby book, like last Friday's riveting "O rolled front to back 3x" while other days I manage a heartfelt email or blog posting. One day soon I'll get back to my writer's group; maybe once Oaks stops waking every three hours at night or perhaps when I stop missing him as soon as he's in bed. 

Most days I'm pretty satisfied with the variety of colors I get onto our dinner plates and the ratio of roughage to protein and starch. Though I suffer from the serious culinary condition of not being able to remember what meals I made recently and which were keepers, so that I find myself struggling daily to make something I've never made before. This is fine (though exhausting) for someone like myself who prefers not to eat the same dish twice in one month and is currently on maternity leave, but nearly impossible to maintain when working outside the home. To assist in my constant recipe mining I reference my collection of cookbooks (frequenting The New Basics, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest, and the stack of Everyday Food magazines that I found at my old laundromat) as well as epicurious.com and my food-loving family who also enjoy a good meal every now and then, to put it lightly. Whenever members of the Dante clan share a meal the conversation always drifts towards planning the next meal while we're still enjoying the present one; it would be a good joke if it weren't so true. Emails between my mother, my sister, and myself begin or end with what we've pulled out the garden or a new recipe or concoction. In fact, my sister prompted this post with the mention of her recent parsnip and pear soup inspired by the cooling weather.

The killer instinct is alive and well in Central Park, NYC

And I wasn't kidding about the multiple siblings for Oaks. The little guy has really got my baby senses tingling, but my career goals not so much. How do they do it those mom-preneurs? I wonder if I ever had the killer instinct or if my languishing gumption is a symptom of first-time motherhood. So while the season is imparting its comfort, I am cozying up to the idea of going back to work in a few short months and coming to the conclusion that Fall is definitely too fleeting.