Without wanting to sound like Mrs Smug of Smug Avenue, Smugville, I have been a pretty good parent today. A has been slightly tired and emotional all day - still recovering from Saturday's sleepover shenanigans and post-birthday blues. C has been a little poppet, however, as if to offset his sister's sullen growling.
This morning after a hearty breakfast of porridge, we all went out for a run/scooter ride in the fresh air. C and I fully appreciated the fresh air. A whinged the whole way round. When we got back, after lunch, a couple of Storyteller tapes and a couple of recorded episodes of the current favourite TV prog Jungle Run, I went downstairs and took out The Usborne Big Colouring Book. If I ever suggest to the kids that they do some colouring in, they look at me as though I have suggested they run around the park naked. "Why would I want to do that?" their expressions enquire. However, if I get said colouring book off the shelf and start colouring in myself, it is suddenly the best thing to do ever. The minute I leave, however, the colouring book has to go away, or else anarchy breaks out. Clearly, they just like sitting doing colouring with Mummy. Which is fine by me.
Today we coloured for an hour and a half. During this time I taught them the Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain method of remembering the colours of the rainbow, and we discussed the merits and demerits of Crayola colouring pens. We also discussed what colours we were going to use for that snail, this elephant or the big robot with the lightning flash. We even skipped a page today - this kind of anarchy is usually unheard of, but it is half-term.
We like this colouring book. It's slightly in the style The Anti-Colouring Book by Susan Striker and Edward Kimmel. This book is a great concept. The pages are left for the colourer to complete and then colour, making it more of a creative exercise than the traditional colouring book. The Usborne book takes elements from this, but there is still a lot to colour for those who prefer their colouring old-school. There are also blocks of colour ready-done, which helps out the young colourer when their hands get tired.
Monday, 13 February 2012
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Dorling Kindersley's Children Just Like Me and the many spin-offs.
My Mum bought me the first two of these books, Children Just Like Me,and Celebration! in my teens to help me with my homework. All of the books follow the same basic format - a double-page spread focusing on one child. Spread across the page there are lovely photographs and nuggets of information about both the child concerned, and the country. It's like a soap-opeara for kids version of geography. I LOVED it, despite being that little bit too old for it. In fact, I loved it so much, that I bought myself the French version Des Francais Comme Moi on a holiday a few years later. Both of these will serve as history books for my kids, since the world has changed a great deal since the 1990s.
I bought A Life Like Mine and A Faith Like Mine for the kids a couple of years ago. These are slightly more updated versions, published in the mid-2000s. A enjoys looking at them, although is slightly too young for them yet, I think. However, I think they're amazing - a really good format without too many huge tracts of text for the beginning or reluctant reader. I use the Celebration! book with my students during their work on Spring festivals, and they produce a version based on their own lives. The book always goes down very well, although it is starting to look a little dated.
Today we went for an afternoon visit to the Museum of Childhood at Sudbury Hall. We are National Trust members, and are lucky enough to live quite near to this brilliant place, so often go for a couple of hours to get some fresh air into the kids and to have a look in the fabulous museum. There is a story-telling room with some bookshelves, a dressing up box, soft play shapes for building and a screen to make a stage. Mr M and I like this room, partly because it has nice comfy sofas. Anyway, today, as the kids were playing Castle Destruction, I looked on the shelf and found a Dorling Kindersley book called Children in History, which is the same basic idea as the other books, but for a child in a particular period in history. A was even persuaded away from Castle Destruction to have a look at it, much to her brother's annoyance. Sadly, after a little search on Amazon and ebay, this particular book looks to be unobtainable. Hey ho. Hopefully it will stay on the shelves at the museum for long enough for me and A to have a look at it again.
I bought A Life Like Mine and A Faith Like Mine for the kids a couple of years ago. These are slightly more updated versions, published in the mid-2000s. A enjoys looking at them, although is slightly too young for them yet, I think. However, I think they're amazing - a really good format without too many huge tracts of text for the beginning or reluctant reader. I use the Celebration! book with my students during their work on Spring festivals, and they produce a version based on their own lives. The book always goes down very well, although it is starting to look a little dated.
Today we went for an afternoon visit to the Museum of Childhood at Sudbury Hall. We are National Trust members, and are lucky enough to live quite near to this brilliant place, so often go for a couple of hours to get some fresh air into the kids and to have a look in the fabulous museum. There is a story-telling room with some bookshelves, a dressing up box, soft play shapes for building and a screen to make a stage. Mr M and I like this room, partly because it has nice comfy sofas. Anyway, today, as the kids were playing Castle Destruction, I looked on the shelf and found a Dorling Kindersley book called Children in History, which is the same basic idea as the other books, but for a child in a particular period in history. A was even persuaded away from Castle Destruction to have a look at it, much to her brother's annoyance. Sadly, after a little search on Amazon and ebay, this particular book looks to be unobtainable. Hey ho. Hopefully it will stay on the shelves at the museum for long enough for me and A to have a look at it again.
Friday, 10 February 2012
Eight years of reading to my baby girl
It is A's birthday today, and I am feeling very nostalgic. In fact, this morning, I had a quiet blub because she suddenly seems so grown up and big.
I know I am biased, but A is amazing. I won't detail her amazingness here for fear of turning into one of those parents who buys Aquila magazine (yeah, I know), but she makes my life so much more wonderful by being in it.
A was born at a very, very dark time in my life. I was very unsure of exactly what to do with her, although I always tried my very best, but often felt as though I was blundering in the dark (and often I was blundering in the dark to go and feed her for the 17th time in one evening).
I remember the day the darkness started to lift. I can't remember exactly how old A was, but it was a beautiful bright sunny afternoon. A and I were both sporting strappy vests. We had had a morning at home and I remember looking outside and deciding to take her for a walk. I put her in her sling and set off down the road. We used to live by a railway station, set slightly out of a city centre. We took a walk by the riverside into town and up to the cathedral. The sun was beating down on my shoulders and onto A's little broderie anglaise sunhat. I remember looking down at her and she gave me the most enormous heart-melting grin. I had a sudden awareness of what a wonderful person she was, and such a feeling of excitement that I would get to spend the rest of my life being her Mum.
Some of my happiest memories with her are of sitting her on my knee and reading a story. When she was a crawling baby, we would go to the library, come back and spread the books we had chosen around the living room floor. She would crawl to each book in turn, bring it back to me, and we would read it. This could go on for well over an hour at a time. With a first baby, it is impossible to know what is normal and what is not, but certainly, at the age of 9 months, C did not do this. He would have been more likely to try to eat the books or chuck them around the room. Of the two, however, C has got into reading at an earlier age. I think A used to enjoy the sitting on Mummy's knee aspect of reading, more than the actual books. But that's OK. I used to enjoy that aspect too.
I caught A staring at me the other day, and said "What?" or something equally eloquent. "I remember when you used to be young, Mummy." For a moment I was a little bit put-out. I think I offered a slightly sardonic "hmmm". Later, I thought, she does remember when I used to be young. And she helped me to grow up. God bless you, best daughter a Mummy could have. Happy 8th birthday.
I know I am biased, but A is amazing. I won't detail her amazingness here for fear of turning into one of those parents who buys Aquila magazine (yeah, I know), but she makes my life so much more wonderful by being in it.
A was born at a very, very dark time in my life. I was very unsure of exactly what to do with her, although I always tried my very best, but often felt as though I was blundering in the dark (and often I was blundering in the dark to go and feed her for the 17th time in one evening).
I remember the day the darkness started to lift. I can't remember exactly how old A was, but it was a beautiful bright sunny afternoon. A and I were both sporting strappy vests. We had had a morning at home and I remember looking outside and deciding to take her for a walk. I put her in her sling and set off down the road. We used to live by a railway station, set slightly out of a city centre. We took a walk by the riverside into town and up to the cathedral. The sun was beating down on my shoulders and onto A's little broderie anglaise sunhat. I remember looking down at her and she gave me the most enormous heart-melting grin. I had a sudden awareness of what a wonderful person she was, and such a feeling of excitement that I would get to spend the rest of my life being her Mum.
Some of my happiest memories with her are of sitting her on my knee and reading a story. When she was a crawling baby, we would go to the library, come back and spread the books we had chosen around the living room floor. She would crawl to each book in turn, bring it back to me, and we would read it. This could go on for well over an hour at a time. With a first baby, it is impossible to know what is normal and what is not, but certainly, at the age of 9 months, C did not do this. He would have been more likely to try to eat the books or chuck them around the room. Of the two, however, C has got into reading at an earlier age. I think A used to enjoy the sitting on Mummy's knee aspect of reading, more than the actual books. But that's OK. I used to enjoy that aspect too.
I caught A staring at me the other day, and said "What?" or something equally eloquent. "I remember when you used to be young, Mummy." For a moment I was a little bit put-out. I think I offered a slightly sardonic "hmmm". Later, I thought, she does remember when I used to be young. And she helped me to grow up. God bless you, best daughter a Mummy could have. Happy 8th birthday.
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog and The Pigeon Wants a Puppy by Mo Willems
Why would you ever read incoherent TV tie-ins or simpering tales about pale pink diamond encrusted ballerinas, when books like this exist? Mo Willems is an author worth your time. No ballet-dancing mice in these. No contrived dialogue, or lazily drawn pictures in these.
I bought Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog in The Works years ago, in one of those 4 books for a fiver promotions they do. A pointed at it and said "gah!", which to my mind meant "please buy me this book, Mummy!" A said "gah" a lot, which goes some way to explaining why we have such an inordinately huge number of books.
I read it when we got home, and then remember telling Mr M when he got in from work that he just had to read this book, even though A was already asleep upstairs. It was an instant hit.
It's cartoon-strip style and very simply drawn. The amount of different emotions Willems can express with a certain shape of an eyelid or flutter of pigeon wing is incredible. The conceits in the stories are simple. The pigeon finds a hot dog that the duck wants to eat. The pigeon wants a puppy, until he meets one and is terrified. The text is minimalist and snappy. You can tell it's American. but it doesn't pose a comprehension barrier for a British toddler. (Aside - not like when I used to read Judy Blume et al as a pre-teen. I used to get really confused when they said things like "That's it! Period" Why, I thought, do Americans regularly refer to menstrual bleeding when they are trying to emphasise a point? It was many, many years before I realised that period in fact meant full-stop. It all made a lot more sense then).
A and C loved these books as babies, toddlers, and they still enjoy reading them now. They particularly enjoy Mr M's dramatic renditions of Hot Dog, which are delivered in his own personal performance-art style. I am quite sure you will enjoy creating your own Pigeon reading style.
I bought Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog in The Works years ago, in one of those 4 books for a fiver promotions they do. A pointed at it and said "gah!", which to my mind meant "please buy me this book, Mummy!" A said "gah" a lot, which goes some way to explaining why we have such an inordinately huge number of books.
I read it when we got home, and then remember telling Mr M when he got in from work that he just had to read this book, even though A was already asleep upstairs. It was an instant hit.
It's cartoon-strip style and very simply drawn. The amount of different emotions Willems can express with a certain shape of an eyelid or flutter of pigeon wing is incredible. The conceits in the stories are simple. The pigeon finds a hot dog that the duck wants to eat. The pigeon wants a puppy, until he meets one and is terrified. The text is minimalist and snappy. You can tell it's American. but it doesn't pose a comprehension barrier for a British toddler. (Aside - not like when I used to read Judy Blume et al as a pre-teen. I used to get really confused when they said things like "That's it! Period" Why, I thought, do Americans regularly refer to menstrual bleeding when they are trying to emphasise a point? It was many, many years before I realised that period in fact meant full-stop. It all made a lot more sense then).
A and C loved these books as babies, toddlers, and they still enjoy reading them now. They particularly enjoy Mr M's dramatic renditions of Hot Dog, which are delivered in his own personal performance-art style. I am quite sure you will enjoy creating your own Pigeon reading style.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Aquila magazine
A is big into magazines at the moment. I have a bit of time for Jacqueline Wilson magazine. Some of it is fluffy tosh, but there's a lot about writing in there, and A adores it. Moshi Monsters magazine is also OK, and one that she will sit with for a while. She also quite likes the RSPB's Bird Life magazine, but did once famously say "there's a little bit too much about birds in it." I dread to think if they ever do a customer survey. "What would you change about the magazine?" "Less about the birds, please".
Anyway, I am a sucker for trying new magazines. A friend mentioned Aquila a while back. When I looked at the website, it was a little bit "a magazine for your gifted child." It made me wrinkle up inside. I felt that it was a magazine aimed at parents whose facebook status is always something like: "So proud of Tarquin. He is now fluent in 12 different dead languages." Parents of kids who are "so clever they get bored at school and have to express themselves with their fists". I have an unspoken fear that I could turn into one of those parents. As I penned "I was wondering if you had any plans to move C up a level in his reading books, as he is finding these quite easy now", the voice in my head was mocking me. (DISCLAIMER 1: the occasional boast post is obviously a natural part of parenthood. DISCLAIMER 2: Of course there are bright kids who are bored at school. But instead of whacking other kids, clever kids should see it as a life lesson. Huge swathes of even really happy lives, where you have a great family and amazing job are really, really, really boring. School was useful training for me for deeply boring life experiences such as having a young baby, waiting in Specsavers and committee meetings).
However, they recently changed their selling tactic to "for kids who enjoy challenges". That sits much better with me. All kids should enjoy challenges. And not just the challenge of how to manage the Survival Endless in Plants vs Zombies when all of the extra plants cost 50 more sun for every new planting. Yes indeed. Challenges are good.
Anyway, I succumbed and ordered a subscription. The magazine arrived today. We are impressed. In fact, I am not convinced A is asleep yet. She likes the varied content and the unpatronising tone. So thumbs up. But if it starts making me excuse A's rare flashes of bad behaviour on her rampant creativity, please feel free to slap me.
Anyway, I am a sucker for trying new magazines. A friend mentioned Aquila a while back. When I looked at the website, it was a little bit "a magazine for your gifted child." It made me wrinkle up inside. I felt that it was a magazine aimed at parents whose facebook status is always something like: "So proud of Tarquin. He is now fluent in 12 different dead languages." Parents of kids who are "so clever they get bored at school and have to express themselves with their fists". I have an unspoken fear that I could turn into one of those parents. As I penned "I was wondering if you had any plans to move C up a level in his reading books, as he is finding these quite easy now", the voice in my head was mocking me. (DISCLAIMER 1: the occasional boast post is obviously a natural part of parenthood. DISCLAIMER 2: Of course there are bright kids who are bored at school. But instead of whacking other kids, clever kids should see it as a life lesson. Huge swathes of even really happy lives, where you have a great family and amazing job are really, really, really boring. School was useful training for me for deeply boring life experiences such as having a young baby, waiting in Specsavers and committee meetings).
However, they recently changed their selling tactic to "for kids who enjoy challenges". That sits much better with me. All kids should enjoy challenges. And not just the challenge of how to manage the Survival Endless in Plants vs Zombies when all of the extra plants cost 50 more sun for every new planting. Yes indeed. Challenges are good.
Anyway, I succumbed and ordered a subscription. The magazine arrived today. We are impressed. In fact, I am not convinced A is asleep yet. She likes the varied content and the unpatronising tone. So thumbs up. But if it starts making me excuse A's rare flashes of bad behaviour on her rampant creativity, please feel free to slap me.
Saturday, 4 February 2012
National Libraries Day
"Why isn't there a childrens' day?" we used to whinge, in that irritating tone that all kids have. The predictable response? "Every day is children's day". Of course, I knew what they were getting at. But I still contend that it wasn't, because we didn't get a box of chocolates, some slightly decrepid daffodils and breakfast in bed every morning. Anyway. Every day should be Libraries day.
My Mum didn't drive, so when we were little, day trips had to be local. My two favourite places in the world to go were WHSmith and the library. When I took an ill-advised trip back to my childhood shopping precint last Spring (ill-advised because it reminded me of Mum and I cried pretty much constantly, embarrassed A, and looked unhinged), it was the library which really set me off. It has been refurbished, but still stands in the same carpark. It used to smell of lovely new books. I would sit for a very, very long time, choosing which books to take home with me - for free! Such excitement! Much more exciting, really, than WHSmith, where you actually had to have some money to take stuff home. I could read whatever I wanted! Such freedom.
When we moved to the Midlands, I became a familiar face at the village library. I think I read every book in the teen section. In fact they eventually offered me a job, as I was in there so much! I turned it down, as I already had a part-time job, and I think I am rather too fog-horned of voice to be a good librarian.
My two don't love the library, quite as much as I did yet, but they are getting there. We were going to go today (it being National Libraries Day, and also ours are due back), but were scuppered by a birthday party for one of C's friends. All of the local libraries now have reduced opening hours on a Saturday. We had to make do with reading the ones we hadn't got round to reading yet (Laugh out Loud by Fiona Waters and I Know Someone with Dyslexia by Sue Barraclough). A chose that one as she knows I work with people with dyslexia, and she wanted to learn more about it. I wouldn't have wanted to buy it, as it's quite short and not exactly a riveting read, but libraries are there to disseminate knowledge, and this is what they do.
A and C also love their school library. We are very lucky that theirs has one, as does the school I teach in. I use it every day. It is a source of great joy to me that my Year 7 group turn to the books before the internet when they have to research a topic. They have come to know and trust the school librarian, and are beginning to know and trust books too.
We go to many different libraries. Our village does not have one (a source of some angst for me - it really needs one), but we do live within driving/bussing distance of several. All are special in their own way, and all are ALWAYS busy whenever we go. Communities need libraries with proper, trained librarians, rather than a Tesco-stylee self checkout thingy.
My Mum didn't drive, so when we were little, day trips had to be local. My two favourite places in the world to go were WHSmith and the library. When I took an ill-advised trip back to my childhood shopping precint last Spring (ill-advised because it reminded me of Mum and I cried pretty much constantly, embarrassed A, and looked unhinged), it was the library which really set me off. It has been refurbished, but still stands in the same carpark. It used to smell of lovely new books. I would sit for a very, very long time, choosing which books to take home with me - for free! Such excitement! Much more exciting, really, than WHSmith, where you actually had to have some money to take stuff home. I could read whatever I wanted! Such freedom.
When we moved to the Midlands, I became a familiar face at the village library. I think I read every book in the teen section. In fact they eventually offered me a job, as I was in there so much! I turned it down, as I already had a part-time job, and I think I am rather too fog-horned of voice to be a good librarian.
My two don't love the library, quite as much as I did yet, but they are getting there. We were going to go today (it being National Libraries Day, and also ours are due back), but were scuppered by a birthday party for one of C's friends. All of the local libraries now have reduced opening hours on a Saturday. We had to make do with reading the ones we hadn't got round to reading yet (Laugh out Loud by Fiona Waters and I Know Someone with Dyslexia by Sue Barraclough). A chose that one as she knows I work with people with dyslexia, and she wanted to learn more about it. I wouldn't have wanted to buy it, as it's quite short and not exactly a riveting read, but libraries are there to disseminate knowledge, and this is what they do.
A and C also love their school library. We are very lucky that theirs has one, as does the school I teach in. I use it every day. It is a source of great joy to me that my Year 7 group turn to the books before the internet when they have to research a topic. They have come to know and trust the school librarian, and are beginning to know and trust books too.
We go to many different libraries. Our village does not have one (a source of some angst for me - it really needs one), but we do live within driving/bussing distance of several. All are special in their own way, and all are ALWAYS busy whenever we go. Communities need libraries with proper, trained librarians, rather than a Tesco-stylee self checkout thingy.
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Storyteller
The other evening, C was reading his latest enthralling Biff and Chip odyssey. He got to the end of the page and I said "bing!". C seems to accept others making seemingly random noises. A asked "What are you doing Mummy?" "Storyteller! You know, when it makes a bing noise when it's time to turn the page." Cue blank looks.
"Storyteller. Funny fella". I think that's how the marketing bumf went. But why would you need marketing when you have the PERFECT PRODUCT. Because that, to my mind is what Storyteller is.
Storyteller played a very, very large part in teaching me to read. And, MUCH more importantly, it made me excited about books, reading and stories. If you are unfamiliar with Storyteller, and are in your early 30s, you can feel justified in telling your parents that you were a deprived child. Storyteller was the best thing to come out of mid-1980s Britain, publishing-wise in my humble opinion. It was a monthly publication, with a magazine, a tape, and an activity book, each with several stories, both one offs and serialisations. Some were classics, some specifically written for the series. All were wonderfully written and wonderfully read. We used to order it in to the local newsagent and get ludicrously excited when it was time for the next installment.
It was not cheap. I used to cost £1.95 per issue, which was quite a lot of money, back in the day, when you think you could have bought an Enid Blyton for 99p. However, it was so, SO worth it.
We had Storyteller 2, the second installment. My friend Jo, being that bit younger, had Little Storyteller and I used to seethe with jealousy that I didn't have that too. When A was about 3 I bought her the Little Storyteller series from ebay. She quite liked it, but was too young to follow the stories from the tape by reading the magazine, which is the best bit. Also the tapes had not been stored well, and were dying a death. They are now pretty much unusable, which is sad, but they have both pretty much grown out of Little Storyteller now anyway. I also bought the first series, which we did not own, but have not yet got round to checking if the tapes still work on that one (fingers firmly crossed).
So, after I had made the bing noise, A decided that she must listen to Mummy's old tapes. I went and dug them out, worried that our tapes would also have perished. But, hurrah! Clear as a bell! Luckily, we still have a tape deck as part of one of our music systems and so A and C curled up with the magazine folder (oh yes, we had the blue folder, and the blue tape box), propped up against the TV stand. They took it in turns to turn the page when it binged. For four hours. It took them a little while to get used to archaisms such as "getting tapes out" and "changing the side", but they were fine after a while. They were entranced by the pictures. A said "I love how the pictures help you think of the story." She said she felt as though she were there. I almost shouted "YES! ME TOO!" and I think she was a little scared. I had a wonderful time, reliving childhood memories of the wonderful stories, but it was even more wonderful to watch A and C following every single word on the page, completely entranced.
Tonight she asked to listen to Storyteller, rather than watch TV or go on the computer. IN YOUR FACE, modern technology." Marshall Cavendish, if you are listening, I implore you. Bring back Storyteller.
"Storyteller. Funny fella". I think that's how the marketing bumf went. But why would you need marketing when you have the PERFECT PRODUCT. Because that, to my mind is what Storyteller is.
Storyteller played a very, very large part in teaching me to read. And, MUCH more importantly, it made me excited about books, reading and stories. If you are unfamiliar with Storyteller, and are in your early 30s, you can feel justified in telling your parents that you were a deprived child. Storyteller was the best thing to come out of mid-1980s Britain, publishing-wise in my humble opinion. It was a monthly publication, with a magazine, a tape, and an activity book, each with several stories, both one offs and serialisations. Some were classics, some specifically written for the series. All were wonderfully written and wonderfully read. We used to order it in to the local newsagent and get ludicrously excited when it was time for the next installment.
It was not cheap. I used to cost £1.95 per issue, which was quite a lot of money, back in the day, when you think you could have bought an Enid Blyton for 99p. However, it was so, SO worth it.
We had Storyteller 2, the second installment. My friend Jo, being that bit younger, had Little Storyteller and I used to seethe with jealousy that I didn't have that too. When A was about 3 I bought her the Little Storyteller series from ebay. She quite liked it, but was too young to follow the stories from the tape by reading the magazine, which is the best bit. Also the tapes had not been stored well, and were dying a death. They are now pretty much unusable, which is sad, but they have both pretty much grown out of Little Storyteller now anyway. I also bought the first series, which we did not own, but have not yet got round to checking if the tapes still work on that one (fingers firmly crossed).
So, after I had made the bing noise, A decided that she must listen to Mummy's old tapes. I went and dug them out, worried that our tapes would also have perished. But, hurrah! Clear as a bell! Luckily, we still have a tape deck as part of one of our music systems and so A and C curled up with the magazine folder (oh yes, we had the blue folder, and the blue tape box), propped up against the TV stand. They took it in turns to turn the page when it binged. For four hours. It took them a little while to get used to archaisms such as "getting tapes out" and "changing the side", but they were fine after a while. They were entranced by the pictures. A said "I love how the pictures help you think of the story." She said she felt as though she were there. I almost shouted "YES! ME TOO!" and I think she was a little scared. I had a wonderful time, reliving childhood memories of the wonderful stories, but it was even more wonderful to watch A and C following every single word on the page, completely entranced.
Tonight she asked to listen to Storyteller, rather than watch TV or go on the computer. IN YOUR FACE, modern technology." Marshall Cavendish, if you are listening, I implore you. Bring back Storyteller.
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