A had swimming until late tonight, so we only had time for one short story. I pulled The Party in the Sky by Alison Catley out on a whim. A used to absolutely love this book, probably when she was about 3. We read it over and over again. It's about a little girl who wants the most amazing party ever, but she lives in a small flat and has no garden. Her parents organise for her to have the most amazing party, whilst keeping with the central motif that the family is poor. Tonight the ending made me cry, which suggests to me that I should be in bed already, as I am clearly tired and emotional.
It was really wonderful to watch A's face as she remembered all of the pictures. When she saw the front cover she said "Oh, I remember this book now!" When I asked her what it was about, she couldn't remember at all, but could describe several of the pictures in great detail. When I remember books from my childhood, it is in exactly the same way - one of my favourite ever books had a picture in it of some "brand new marker pens" and I have no recollection of how the pens were used, but I remember the picture of them perfectly. Sadly, due to the fact that my mother had no truck with sentimentality, they probably went to the charity shop many, many moons ago, and so I'll just have to be satisfied by the pictures, which, seemingly, is what children carry with them into adulthood from favourite early-childhood picture books.