Rapture

No memory is ever pure, for we all construct narrative in hindsight. I have constructed a strong, bitter narrative around one episode from my childhood such that I have made it a lynch pin of my identity. The memory involves rapture movies. Do you know of these beasts? Have you ever borne witness?

By now you all know that my father died when I was 7. You may even know that he died of a curable disease: Hodgkins--that's the one that sidelined Mario Lemieux for a couple of months back in '93. Even back in the early '70s, Hodgkins was curable if it was detected in time. My dad's was not. Now maybe that was because he was a stubborn, bear-the-pain-in-silence farmer or maybe it was because my small town was serviced by two family doctors who had spent the bulk of their careers as missionaries in Africa and, as such, were not really on top of the diagnostic literature. I don't know the answer for certain but as I mentioned above, I have consciously constructed bitterness from this story.

When my dad died, our doctor felt deep and honest remorse. I'm certain of it. Whether he also felt pangs of guilt, I'll never know. For years following dad's death, the doctor's wife came to visit once each summer carrying a cheque that would send one of us kids to camp. I know this family of devout Christians saw this act as God's work, charitable work. We were dirt poor; going to summer camp was an opportunity we certainly wouldn't have had without their help. The camp, Fair Glen, was a pan-denominational, evangelical Christian organization with a few acres of land about a half-hour from where I grew up. Its sole purpose was make us born again... while teaching us a bit of paddling and bead work on the side.

I remember my first year at camp. I was 12 or 13 years old (but I felt younger) and it was my first time away from home--really away, not just visiting Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Vi or bunking down at Gram's for the night. I was gone a full week without the ability to contact home. On our first night at camp, before we were even able to get to know one another and form strategic social-sanity bonds, we were all herded into the main hall for movie night. We watched A Distant Thunder, a rapture film.

A Distant Thunder begins with a guillotining scene set to a chorus of complacent Christians singing "We shall overcome" dirge-like as they are marched to their death. You see in the prequel to this film, A Thief in the Night, all God's faithful are swept off to heaven in the Rapture. Those left behind are given a choice by Satan's followers: accept the mark of the beast or be executed. The only hope promised to these poor sods is to accept Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour such that their reward will await them on the other side of the blade. Some do. Some do not. All are murdered brutally on-screen.

After the film, we were told that the Rapture could happen at any time, that end-times were at hand. Only those known to Christ would be taken in the Rapture. The rest of us would have to deal with the apocalypse. We then walked back to our cabins, which had no indoor plumbing or electricity, to contemplate our souls and to get a good night's rest. Suffice to say, that night, as I lay on my bunk unable to sleep for fear of being attacked in the night, for fear of simply dissolving, for fear of never seeing my family again and for fear of fear itself, I became born again.

A week later on my return home, CTV carried the "World Television Premiere" of The Omen. I made it as far as the Nanny scene ("Damien, Damien, this I do for you!") before having to leave the room more terrified than I had ever been in my life. I didn't sleep all night, for if I slept on my side I could be attacked from behind. I could easily be smothered if I dozed off on my stomach. Phantom arms were sure to spring up from the bed should I lie on my back. The hands under the bed would no doubt grab my ankles if I made a run for it. Hours passed by and I watched the slow path of headlights crawl around my walls, each light a trumpet blast from one of the horsemen of the apocalypse.

It's not that I was new to Christianity when I walked through the gates of Fair Glen. We were a god-fearing family. When I was little, my mother played the organ at the Anglican church and I helped by putting the hymn numbers up in the hardwood display boards. My Gram was a fire and brimstone Baptist who made sure I attended Pioneer Girls. She was also responsible for the various illustrated editions of the Bible we had kicking around the house. And yet, Christianity was quietly observed in my family, my mother being more a disciple of C.S. Lewis than any kind of organized doctrine.

After my rebirth of duress in Christ, I remained a Christian throughout my teen years though never so earnest and terrified a one as I was that first summer. I returned to camp at least one more time and saw a few more Rapture films before my indoctrination was complete. I eventually joined the United Church and became part of a singing teen ministry. I went to Breakfast Club before Church each Sunday and eventually the social aspects of Christianity won out over all that fear-mongering. At the time, I believed I was a true person of faith but in retrospect I know that my core was hollow on this count.

As I passed into adulthood I began to question so many aspects of Christianity and the Church. I lost my faith entirely and I know deep down that I will never reclaim it. I don't pretend for a second that this loss of faith can all be pegged on a single rapture film, but when you come to God by way of the lion and not the lamb you will always be frightened and unsure. When your experiences are soured by poverty and parental loss such that you can't help but question the motives of even the most sincere do-gooders, you become that proverbial camel on the wrong side of the needle--except that you can't help but wonder to yourself why you would ever want to squeeze yourself back through.

_________________________
This post was written as part of Julie's Hump Day Hmmmm. I would have had it up on Wed except I got too sleepy to finish it last night. And yes, I have read Gwen's post but not until I had this one more or less written. Oh and I have also seen the Mimi Rogers/David Duchovny Rapture, just in case you're wondering.

I wish I had a river

For the love of hockey and feminists, this Canadian gal finally taught herself to skate in her mid-30s. It's not that I had never tried before. When I was a child, there were always skates kicking around the house. "Girl skates" we called them: always white with that awkward claw of toe-picks that would force you to hobble-glide around the ice if by chance clutz and not lutz was your athletic destiny. It was clear from early on in my childhood that I was nothing more than a Katarina Twit. You'll still see women of my generation working their way around the rink using that tell-tale prissy hobble. I often wonder if those same women are soul sisters: bullied from the rec room by their brothers for asking too many stupid questions when the Leafs played the Habs; coerced into an interest in figure skating; and living for the winter Olympics just to watch the speed skaters fly.

Any skates I wore as a child were ill-fitting. As kid number 5, little was new, little was mine. When I did skate, it was never at a rink. No, "us kids" would trudge across two farmer's fields, dragging shovels, boards and skates to get back to the crick. My prairie husband might call the crick a slough. I don't know what your regional flourish is for a small pool of standing water in the middle of farm country.

We'd arrive at the crick tired from the knee-deep hike and then spend a half an hour clearing the ice before tightening our skates with knuckleless frozen fingers. Five minutes later, after falling repeatedly on the ice's wind-rippled surface, we'd head home for hot chocolate. I'd strip off my wet clothes at the register vent inside the back door and then sit in my underwear, nursing the warm choclately goodness while watching my thighs turn from pink to frost-patchy white to red before settling into their pale mottledness. The whole affair was a make-work production designed to make us patriots if perhaps not skaters.

In my 30s, I joined the Library School women's Co-Rec hockey team. The ability to skate was not a prerequisite in this league. Punny team names were, however, de rigeur. Sadly I cannot take credit for christening The Infomaniacs but my second team a year later, The Booby Orrs, that was all my doing. We were a mixed collection of academic feminists who actually did manage to bring a high degree of collegiality to team sports. And, when it came to skating, being on a hockey team changed everything. I had padding and a stick for stability. I had a purpose with rules to define it. At long last, I wanted to learn. I wanted to be a Canadian Amazon of the Ice. I began showing up for noon hour public skates. I started jumping the boards of my local outdoor community league at midnight. I sought advice: watch the bum of the skater in front of you to establish a rhythm; don't tighten your laces across the foot to prevent cramping but strap your ankles in with all your might, push your heels out from the bum on down to slow down quickly... And, dear readers, at long last I bought hockey skates--still used, but hockey skates nonetheless.

Little by little, I learned that wonderful rocking motion that feels a bit like oblivious escape. I lived in Edmonton at the time where I could skate on the lake at Hawrelak Park or go a few rounds on the Victoria Oval, places where you could build up speed and begin to lose yourself in thought. Outdoor skating offered clean fresh air and endorphins. Other people dream their wanderlust to being by flying to foreign lands. Not me. All I need is a clear, bright -10 day and a patch of unending ice.

Ah but then I moved out here to the Maritimes--where women's hockey is actually played by real Acadian Amazons NOT aging, pudgy feminists with a penchant for living life for its metaphorical resonance. My teammates had little time or sympathy for my spazzy stops and my inability to skate backwards. I spent one season miserable on a flatly named team that was filled with hyper-competitive asshats. I drove to games an hour out of town at 6 am on -20 January days. I practiced the drills. I ate the pizza and drank the beer. I hated every single minute of it.

Now, a few years after quitting, I guess I am a true Canadian skater at long last: you know, the kind of person who can only get access to ice time at public, noon-hour skates. As such, two lunch hours every week, I go around in tight circles, breathing Zamboni fumes and making friendly chit-chat. In this teetering obstacle course of fitness, I am surrounded by the Old Timer hot dogs who stop short of body checking in their efforts to claim ice real estate and by the teetering international students looking for the le vrai chose Canadienne--all the while surrounding the Intolerable Cranstons, figure skaters doomed to spin and leap at centre ice. Theirs is a circle of icy hell more circumscribed than mine. Yet, that rocking hockey motion is sufficiently seductive to keep me coming back week after week, year after year.

Each winter day, I dream of of lakes, rivers and canals, expanses of ice that promise a wintery escape.

Miss M's semi-annual reading round-up

Blog, blog, blog. Awards, awards, awards. You will recall a time when my mother wrote this blog FOR ME and ABOUT ME. AS IT SHOULD BE. It's time I took over this hobby horse to bring just a bit of the FAMILY back to this so-called family blog. All you mommies and daddies had better get set for a trip to the library with your kidlets because here is my list of the 100 books that tickled my fancy in the last 6 months. By the way, I am almost 3.

I'm still a cultural nationalist in training. The + means the writer and or picture maker is from Canada. I didn't list all the picture makers but some of them I liked a lot. Bossy Mommy decided to use a different colour for the 25 books that we both liked best. If only I could type myself!

Aylesworth, Jim (retold by). Aunt Pitty Patty's Piggy. Illustrated by Barbara McClintock
Aylesworth, Jim (retold by). The Gingerbread Man. Illustrated by Barbara McClintock
Baker, Tanya and Carlton Holm. Harvey the Hiccupping Hippopotamus
Bang, Molly. When Sophie Gets Angry. Really, Really Angry
+Bogart, Jo Ellen. Gifts. Illustrated by Barbara Reid
Two Too Many
+Bourgeous, Paulette. Franklin Goes to School
Franklin is Messy
Franklin's Class Trip
Hurry Up, Franklin
Brett, Jan. Annie and the Wild Animals
Armadillo Rodeo
Berlioz the Bear
Comet's Nine Lives
Fritz and the Beautiful Horses
The Mitten
Town Mouse, Country Mouse
Trouble with Trolls
Carle, Eric. The Very Lonely Firefly
The Very Quiet Cricket
Child, Lauren. My School Play: Sticker Stories (Mom keeps promising me more Charlie and Lola books from the library but they're always checked out.)
Cooper, Helen. The Baby Who Wouldn't Go To Sleep
Delicious, A Pumpkin Soup Story
A Pipkin of Pepper for the Pumpkin Soup (but you really have to start with the original Pumpkin Soup if you haven't read it. It made my first book list. And don't forget Tatty Ratty!)
+Downey, Shirley. Mud Muddelicious Mud: Verse for the Very Young
+Drawson, Blair. Mary Margaret's Tree
Eastman, P. D. Are You My Mother?
+Edwards, Wallace. Mixed Beasts. Verses by Kenyon Cox
+Gagnon, Cecil. A New House. Translated by Patricia Claxton
+Gilman, Phoebe. The Balloon Tree
Hawkes, Kevin. His Royal Buckliness
Healey, Tim. Bear in a Chair
The Cat with Two Homes
Mouse's Magic Paints
Posey's Patterns
Skiddle-dee-daddle (a first book of noises)
Hill, Eric. Spot's Playtime Story book (Mommy cannot bear Spot. She uses the word sycophant but I don't know what that means yet. I think it just might mean that Spot is really, really nice.)
Holmelund Minarik, Else. Father Bear Comes Home
Hughes, Shirley. Helpers
+Hutchins, Hazel. Katie's Babbling Brother
Juster, Norton. The Hello, Goodbye Window Illustrated by Chris Raschka
Lobel, Arnold. Mouse Soup
Mayer, Mercer. All By Myself
I'm Sorry
Just a Mess
Just a Toy
Just For You
Just Going to the Dentist
McCloskey, Robert. Blueberries for Sal
Moss, Lloyd. Zin!, Zin!, Zin!: A Violin
Murphy, Jill. All in One Piece
+Oppel, Kenneth. Peg and the Yeti (There's nothing like a good Newfoundland yarn especially when it features pork scruncheons.)
Oxenbury, Helen. A Bit of Dancing
The Helen Oxenbury Nursery Collection (Ha! I knew I was right. Red Riding Hood talked to strangers and she got eaten up. I knew it. I just knew it would happen.)
Pooley, Sarah. A Day of Rhymes
Reid, Barbara. The Subway Mouse
Rey, H.A. and Margaret. Curious George

Daddy busts a gut at this image

Curious George takes a Job
My Mommy, on the other hand, is fond of the page that includes this

Curious George Rides a Bike
Curious George George Gets a Medal
Curious George Flies a Kite
Curious George Learns the Alphabet
Curious George Goes to the Hospital
Curious George's First Day of School
Curious George's Dinosaur Discovery
Reynolds, Adrian. Pete and Polo's Big School Adventure
Silverstein, Shel. Where the Sidewalk Ends
+Simard, Rémy. My Dog is an Elephant
Sims, Lesley (retold by). How Elephants Got their Wings
+Spinelli, Eileen. City Angel
+Van Laan, Nancy. Busy, Busy Moose
Viorst, Judith. Super Completely and Totally the Messiest
Ward, Cindy. Cookie's Week
Wells, Rosemary. Emily's First 100 Days of School
Noisy Nora
Ruby's Magic Act
Max is it (Santa put these two books in my stocking. I love them. They're really short and they tell the stories of two of my favourite TV episodes. When Mommy saw the Canada Council for the Arts logo in the back of the books, I saw fire blow from her ears. I heard her say something to Daddy about why theatre is a dying art.)
Whybrow, Ian. Bella Gets her Skates On
Willems, Mo. Knufflebunny
There is a Bird on Your Head
Winnie the Pooh: Sing along Songs (Mommy says there is no author for this one, whatsoever. Only the word she used was, uh, bastardized. I don't know what that means exactly but I love pushing the buttons and singing the songs.)

Hallowe'en Books
Bond, Felicia. The Halloween Play
Cuyler, Margery. Skeleton Hiccups
Donaldson, Julia. Room on the Broom
Herman, R.A. The Littlest Pumpkin
Metzger, Steve. Five Spooky Ghosts Playing Tricks at School
Minor, Wendell. Pumpkin Heads
Slater, Teddy. The Spookiest Halloween Ever

Christmas Books
Brett, Jan. Who's That Knocking on Christmas Eve?
The Wild Christmas Reindeer
Burmingham, John. Harvey Slumfenburger's Christmas Present
Dewan, Ted. Crispin: The Pig Who Had it All
+Little, Jean. Pippin the Christmas Pig
Meyer, Mercer. Merry Christmas Mom and Dad
Moore, Clement. The Night Before Christmas (we have 3 editions of it--you can never have too many.)
The Mother Goose Book of Christmas Carols
Roberts, Bethany. Christmas Mice!
Speirs, John. The Best Christmas Hunt Ever
Wood, Don and Audrey. Merry Christmas, Big Hungry Bear

I've also been reading quite a few Chirp magazines that my oh-so-mature friend Alison gave me last fall. They were hers 8 years ago! When Mommy saw how much I liked them, she bought an entire subscription. Lucky for us, Alison's school was selling them.

If you are new to my book lists, there are three more. You can find them on the side bar. I try not to repeat any titles but I sometimes slip up.

Oh, Mommy wants me to remind you all to vote for the people she nominated in the Canadian Blog Awards. Just read the next post to find out who and then vote. And you know, she is my mommy so maybe you could vote for her too while you're there.

ABC, 123; it's as easy as it can be

In about 24 hours, I'm going to be leaving bloggyland for just over two weeks. Westward ho to see family and to binge on theatre. Promise me you won't write anything interesting while I'm gone, 'kay?

To keep you occupied in the meantime, here is my list of 26-ish (ok, 32) great alphabet books and 10-ish (19, actually) fun counting books. I'll put a link to this post up on my sidebar along with Miss M's two top 100 book lists so that you can easily find them all on your next trip to the library. I had planned to annotate these lists but, duh, I'm traveling half-way cross-country in 24 hours with 1 two year old, 1 frazzled director/husband, 6 actors, 1 car seat, many snacks and various set pieces. Strategic luggage planning NOT critical annotation is my current top priority. And now, the lists:

ABeCedaria should be a magic word

The Adventures of an Apple Pie who was Cut to Pieces and Eaten by Twenty Six Young Ladies and Gentlemen with whom all little people ought to be acquainted. Dover, 1973. Facsimile ed of that published by George Burgess, New York: 1835

Anno, Mitsumasa. Anno's Alphabet: An Adventure in Imagination. Harper: 1975

Azarian, Mary. A Farmer's Alphabet. Godine: 1981

Blake, Quentin. Quentin Blake's ABC. Knopf: 1989

Coletta, Hallie and Irene. From A to Z. Prentice-Hall: 1979

Coudrille, Jonathon. A Beastly Collection. Frederick Warne: 1974

Edens, Cooper. The Glorious ABC. Atheneum: 1990

Edwards, Wallace. Alphabeasts. Kids Can: 2002

Eichenberg, Fritz. Ape in a Cape: An Alphabet of Odd Animals. Harcourt: 1952

Falls, C. B. ABC Book. Doubleday: 1923

Fleming, Denise. Alphabet Under Construction. Holt: 2002

Greenaway, Kate. A Apple Pie. Castle: 1979 (1886)

Grover, Max. The Accidental Zucchini: An Unexpected Alphabet. Harcourt: 1993

Harrison, Ted. A Northern Alphabet. Tundra. 1982

Johnson, Philip and David Peacock. The Great Canadian Alphabet. Hounslow: 1983

Johnson, Stephen T. Alphabet City. Penguin: 1995

Kipling, John Lockwood. A Kipling ABC. Macmillan: 1979 (1902)

Lalicki, Barbara and Margot Tomes. If there were Dreams to Sell. Lothrop: 1984

Lear, Edward. A Nonsense Alphabet. Bloomsbury: 1988 (1862)

Major, Kevin. Eh? To Zed: A Canadian Abecedarium. Red Deer Press: 2000 (read it out loud; the fun is in the words on the tongue.)

McDonnell, Flora. Flora McDonnell's ABC. Candlewick: 1997

Moore, Yvette and Jo Bannatyne-Cugnet. A Prairie Alphabet. Tundra: 1992

Nicholson, William. An Alphabet. William Heinemann: 1975 (1898)

Roache, Gordon. A Halifax ABC. Tundra: 1987

Rubin, Cynthia Elyce. ABC Americana from the National Gallery of Art. Harcourt: 1989

Tallon, Robet. Rotten Kidphabets. Holt, Rhinehart & Winston: 1975

Tarlow, Nora. An Easter Alphabet. Putnam: 1991

Thornhill, Jan. A Wildlife ABC: A Nature Alphabet. Greey de Pencier: 1988

Van Allsburg, Chris. The Z was Zapped. Houghton Mifflin: 1987

Wormell, Christopher. An Alphabet of Animals. Collins: 1990

AND if you don't know about Dutch's alphabet books over at Sweet Juniper, get your mouse hand in gear and check them out. I was hoping to get them both printed up as books for Miss M for Christmas but I don't know if Dutch still has the high-end files available to allow this to happen. I'll have to look into this all when I get back from vacation and when I start thinking forward to Christmas.

One, two, three four, can I have a little more?

Anno, Mitsumasa. Anno’s Counting Book. Crowell: 1975

Argent, Rod Trince and Kerry. One Woolly Wombat. Omnibus: 1982

Bang, Molly. Ten, Nine, Eight. Greenwillow: 1983

Burmingham, John. Just Cats. Viking Press: 1983

Burton, Katherine. One Gray Mouse. Kids Can: 1995.

Crossley Holland, Kevin. Under the Sun and Over the Moon. Orchard: 1989

Ehlert, Lois. Fish Eyes: A Book You Can Count On. Harcourt: 1990

Friskey, Margaret. Chicken Little: Count-to-ten. Children’s Press: 1946

Gregoire, Caroline. Counting with Apollo. Kane Miller: 2004

Hepworth, Cathy. Antics! Putnam: 1992

Heyboer O’Keefe, Susan. One Hungry Monster. Little Brown, 1989

Lofgren, Ulf. One-Two-Three. Addison-Wesley: 1973. Originally published in Stockholm, 1970

MacCarthy, Patricia. Ocean Parade. Dial: 1990

McGuire, Richard. The Orange Book. Rizzoli: 1992

Morales, Yuyi. Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book. Raincoast: 2003

Moss, Lloyd. Zin! Zin! Zin! A Violin. Simon and Schuster: 1995

Radunsky, Vladimir. 10 (ten). Viking: 2002. (ok, so it's not really a counting book but it is just plain fun.)

Sendak, Maurice. One Was Johnny: A Counting Book. Harper and Row: 1962

Sis, Peter. Going Up! Greenwillow: 1989

There you have it. The age ranges for these books vary quite a bit and some of them are quite old. I just happen to like them all. As always, if you want to add to the list of recommendations, feel free to fill the comments section. Oh, and if you are going to put up your kitsch photos, make sure I know about that too so I can add the links when I get back.

Enjoy the rest of your summer.

Cue silence.

Summer reading

Miss M here. Did you know that I am 2 and 1/2 today? Mom's gift to me was the chance to guest post. I thought that some of the other 2 and 3 -year-olds out there just might be interested in what I've been reading since I turned two.* In fact, the Mayor recently emailed me wonderin' what books were in my beach bag. Besides, with all those Moms and Dads holed up with Harry Potter, a kid's gotta have something to while away the time. Without further ado, I give you:

The 100 Best Books I Read in the Last Six Months: 2-2.5
Legend:
* Canadian
+ poetry collection
bold my top 20

1. Madeline by Ludwig Bemelans
2. Madeline's Rescue by Ludwig Bemelans
3. Birthday Monsters by Sandra Boynton
   
4. The Important Book by Margaret Wise Brown
5. Little Fur Family by Margaret Wise Brown
6. Hand Rhymes by collected and illustrated by Marc Brown +
   
7. Silly Billy by Anthony Browne
   
--a good book if you're an anxious or even fearful child like me

8. One Gray Mouse by Katherine Burton *
   
--a lovely little counting book with clay illustrations
9. Ella Sarah Gets Dressed by Margaret Chodos-Irvine
10. Sometimes I Like to Curl up in a Ball by Vicki Churchill
    
--what's not to love about a wombat?
11. Tatty Ratty by Helen Cooper
    --little Miss Smartie Pants Mommy keeps meaning to write a review of this book and Cooper's other book, Pumpkin Soup that made my toddler list. Can I just say that I want Helen Cooper to adopt me? That's how much I loved these books. The cadence of the prose, the illustrations, the subtle humour... ah! perfection. Mom is always grouching about how we need more Cooper at the library and then sighing heavily each time she gets her Visa statement.
12. Mrs. Wishy Washy by Joy Cowley
13. Click, Clack, Moo: Cows that Type by Doreen Cronin
14. Diary of a Spider by Doreen Cronin
    
--Mom sometimes groans that these books are written for adults not children. Too much winking to the adult sensibility but I just don't get it. I love Spider just as much as I loved Worm back when I read his diary just before I was two.
15. The Little Dog Laughed and other Nursery Rhymes illustrated by Lucy Cousins
16. Ella the Elephant by Carmela and Stephen D'Amico
17. The Classic Treasury of Best-Loved Children's Poems illustrated by Penny Dann +
    
18. A Child's Treasury of Nursery Rhymes compiled and illustrated by Kady MacDonald Denton * +
    
19. Mud Muddelicious Mud: Verse for the Very Young by Shirley Downie * +
    
20. Olivia by Ian Falconer
21. Olivia Saves the Circus by Ian Falconer
22. Olivia forms a Band by Ian Falconer
23. Bee Gets a Sweater by Keith Faulkener
24. Tap, Tap, Tap: What can it be? by Keith Faulkener
25. A-tisket, a-tasket by Ella Fitzgerald; illustrated by Ora Eitan
26. Beast Feast by Douglas Florian
27. A Pocket for Corduroy by Don Freeman
28. Diary of a Wombat by Jackie French
    
--as I was saying, "what's not to love about a Wombat?"
29. The Three Little Pigs illustrated by Marie Louise Gay
30. Grandma and the Pirates by Phoebe Gilman *
31. Jillian Jiggs and the Secret Surprise by Phoebe Gilman *
32. The Wonderful Pigs of Jillian Jiggs by Phoebe Gilman *
33. Jillian Jiggs to the Rescue by Phoebe Gilman *
34. Something from Nothing by Phoebe Gilman *
35. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes
36. Jessica by Kevin Henkes
37. Lily's Purple Plastic Purse by Kevin Henkes
    
-- I think I'm in love with Mr. Slinger
38. Lily's Big Day by Kevin Henkes
39. Once Around the Block by Kevin Henkes
40. Owen by Kevin Henkes
41. Shiela Rae the Brave by Kevin Henkes
42. Corduroy Lost and Found by B. Hennessy based on the Freeman books
43. Sea, Sand, Me by Patricia Hubbell
44. Hiding by Shirley Hughes
45. Colours by Shirley Hughes +
    
46. Songs for Annie Rose by Shirley Hughes +
47. Toot and Puddle: Charming Opal by Hollie Hobbie
48. The Llama Who had No Pajama by Maryann Hoberman +
    
--OMG, I love this collection!

49. Our Day at the Seashore by Amy and Richard Hutchings
    
--my Nan gave me this and a few other beach books to take along on my recent trip to PEI. Now I know what a quohog is.
50. Katie's Babbling Brother by Hazel Hutchins *
51. Rollie Pollie Ollie by William Joyce
52. Take Me Out to the Ball Game by MaryAnn Kovalski *
53. Lavender's Blue: A Book of nursery Rhymes compiled by Kathleen Lines +
    
--a reprint of the 1954 classic. Watch out! A few of the rhymes are from a more savage time: sometimes scary, sometimes deliciously dark.

54. Yummer's Too: the Second Course by James Marshall
55. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault
    
--loved the book but loved the Scholastic video even more. It's too cool for school.
56. Chicka Chicka 123 by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault
57. Panda Bear, Panda Bear, What do you See? by Bill Martin Jr.
58. Baby Bear, Baby Bear, What do you see? by Bill Martin Jr.
    
59. Piggy and Dad Go Fishing by David Martin
60. Dahlia by Barbara McClintock
61. The Oxford 123 Book of Number Rhymes by Robert McGough +
    
62. The Real Mother Goose Book of Christmas Carols
    
--ya, so, it's true that I made my mom sing every single one of these far into March. Hey! I wonder just where that book got to anyway?
63. All in One Piece by Jill Murphy
64. Peg and the Yeti by Kenneth Oppel *
65. The Oxenbury Nursery Story Book compiled and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury +
    
--so far I'm only into the verse section. I hope to start reading the fairy tales this fall

66. A Bit of Dancing by Helen Oxenbury
67. The Ocean Alphabet Book by Jerry Pallota
68. The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn
    
--Mom thinks this book will help me make the transition to day care in the fall. Boy, does she have another thing coming
69. A day of rhymes compiled by Sarah Pooley +
70. Beneath a Blue Umbrella by Jack Prelutsky +
    
--a great book of poems for all you kids, state-side. Mom has promised to find me a Canadian equivalent and then she said something about a Kevin Major alphabet book and told me to stay tuned.
71. For Laughing Out Loud: Poems to Tickle Your Funny Bone selected by Jack Prelutsky +
    
72. 10 Minutes 'Til Bedtime by Peggy Rathmann
73. The Gift by Barbara Reid *
74. My Friend Rabbit by Eric Rohmann
75. Beach Day by Karen Roosa
76. Tales from Parc La Fontaine by Roslyn Schwartz *
    
--the Complete Adventures of the Mole Sisters was on my toddler list. I'm still lovin' it too

77. Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
78. In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
79. The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss
80. My Many Colored Days by Dr. Seuss
81. Duck on a Bike by David Shannon
82. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
83. Casey at the Bat by Ernest Thayer
84. Mama Loves Me by Mara Van Fleet
    
--IMHO, the elephant is the most noble and loving creature on the planet.
85. So Say the Little Monkeys by Nancy Van Laan
    
--this book is like candy on the tongue: "they sing jibba, jibba, jabba as they jump and run. Jump jabba jabba. Run jabba jabba. Tiny, tiny monkeys having fun."
86. Frog in Love by Max Velthius
87. Super-Completely and Totally the Messiest by Judith Viorst
88. Farmer Duck by Martin Waddell
    
--too good for words: "How goes the work? Quack!"

89. Noisy Nora by Rosemary Wells
    
90. I Spy Little Christmas by Walter Wick
91. "More more more" said the baby : 3 love stories by Vera B. Williams
92. The King of Capri by Jeanette Winterson
    
--this book has laxative properties. My all-time favourite potty book. It's just so long.
93. The Napping House by Don and Audrey Wood
94. Piggies by Audrey and Don Wood
    
95. Here's a Little Poem edited by Jane Yolen +
96. How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? by Jane Yolen
97. any one of a number of cheap peg puzzle board books
98. any one of a number of Thomas the Tank Engine cheapo board books
99. any one of a number of magnetic counting, alphabet, or rudimentary spelling books
    
--no, I don't spell and I don't pretend to. I just like to play with the letters.
100. any one of a number of cheapo electronic music, sing-a-long books
     

*And ya, some of these books are meant for 4 and 5-year olds. It's also true that I still read baby books. Why must they put such limited age ranges on children's books. It's soooo totally oppressive.

I hope you like my list. You know what, though?. My silly mother decided to re-read all the Harry Potter books before finishing off the series. She made this decision in June. Like, duh! This means that she is only finishing up #5 now. Please help me! Can you ask your pre-schoolers to recommend some good books to tide me over until Mom is done? Thanks. I knew I could count on you.

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A note from the editor, compiler and chief amanuesnis aka Mad: Miss M puts quite a bit of work into drawing up these lists. She does it because she hopes that they will make helpful library cheat sheets for all her sphere-y friends. Please feel free to tell as many people as you like about them so that her work won't be in vain.

Oh and Miss M insists on writing these posts herself because she doesn't trust my adult editorializing. Not that I would ever do that. She really wants you to know about the books SHE loves regardless of whether her children's lit crit and librarian mother agrees. Little does she know that her mother plans revenge by posting a list of 26 wonderful alphabet books and 10 counting books without consulting her daughter whatsoever. Soon. I promise.

OK, I'm off now to help Miss M put links to this list and to her toddler list on the sidebar. Miss M finds Blogger a bother sometimes. I can't imagine why.

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Because I'm not posting as much these days, I thought I would give you all an early heads up about the upcoming Just Posts. You know the drill: if you have read or written a post or posts dealing with social justice in the month of July, drop me or Jen a line. You've got until August 7th. We'll put the linky love list up on Aug 10th. I'm madhattermommyAThotmailDOTcom.