What's Embarrassing Anyway?

New column in the local newspaper today. I was facing a looming deadline when struck with the idea of asking the kids for their help. Um, well, yeah. The column got done, but I made a curious discovery. Or at least I pondered something probably already known.

Anyways, continue reading below or check the newspaper or the newspaper's printable version.

This is a transcript of an actual, recently completed conversation:

Me: Kiddos? I have an article to write. Do you want to help me?

Daughter: Why?

Me: I need ideas.

Daughter: Snakes!

Me: Snakes?

Daughter: I don’t know. That’s what’s on TV right now.

Me: Wha...?

Daughter: Zac gets bit on the butt.

Me, after muting the offending television: Seriously! Quit looking at TV for a second why don’t you?

Son: Hey, I was watching that! What’re you doing?

Me: I’m talking to you.

Son: You are? About what?

Me: My newspaper column. Weren’t you listening?

Son: Um, TV?

Daughter: Texting. You could make a texting article.

Me: I don’t think I could get enough words with texting.

Daughter: Why? LOL. BRB. [giggles]

Me: I don’t think I know what all the things mean.

Daughter, incredulous: Laugh out loud? Be right back?

Me: Yeah, I know THOSE two, but...

Daughter: ASAP? C’mon, Daddio! [Seriously. She called me Daddio.]

Son: [no response]

At this point my writer’s block was becoming an entire neighborhood of emptiness, and I figured kids should be able to provide content for a parenting column. I decided it was time to pull out the big guns. Coercion.

Me: Eh-hem, here’s the deal. I have taken pictures of the floors in your bedrooms. I will describe them in great detail if you don’t help me write this article.

Daughter: What do you mean, describe them? You took a picture of our bedroom floors?

Me: I took two. 

Son: [no response]

Daughter: What are going to do with them?

Me: Describe them.

Daughter: Okay. [shrugs]

Me: Okay?

Daughter: Just not the underwear.

Me: All right. I won’t mention the underwear.

Son: [no response]

And that was it. My last, best grasp at getting help, voluntarily or involuntarily, had disappeared like yesterday’s homework under a pile of fingernail products, torn art projects, and laundry. But how can the threat of public embarrassment bring absolutely zero results?

This is a room meant for human occupancy, yet items pointy, slimy, and sticky threaten every bare-footed step. Personal effects purchased to provide the necessities of life - clothing, comfort, nourishment - and once neatly organized by loving hands, now lay discarded. Clothing, some torn and some stained and all dirty, is piled randomly. Stuffed animals, half-whiskered and half-clothed, are planted face down. Remnants of snacks past now permanently meld spoons to bowls.

And when I threaten to publicly portray the slovenly practices of my children, all I get is “Okay.”? Is a ruinous room not embarrassing? Is the disastrous not distressing?

I took a writing break after that last paragraph when, coincidentally, my wife exited the boy’s bedroom. “I swear stuff just multiplies in there. It wasn’t that long ago we cleaned under his bed the last time.” Upon looking in the boy’s room I found him lying on the floor, calmly assembling some new creation, surrounded by - and oblivious to - the mysteriously multiplying “stuff.”

That’s when I realized that messy bedrooms don’t embarrass kids any more than right turns embarrass drivers. It’s just part of being a kid. And it’s why kids' bedrooms have doors. Doors parents can keep closed.

One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia

I’ve confessed this before, but I’ll say it again. I didn’t want to read One Crazy Summer. Maybe it was the mother who abandons her children. Maybe it was set in an era of history which never held much interest for me. Maybe I was just looking for another book with laughs or adventure.

But now that I’ve read the book, and the cover has more medals (four) than main characters (three), I’m ready to state the truth. I should have read it long before I felt obligated to do so by the 2011 Newbery committee.

Delphine, Vonetta, and Fern are sisters who live in Brooklyn with their father and grandmother. One Crazy Summer opens with the five of them in John F. Kennedy airport, the three children preparing to fly to Oakland, California for a four-week stay with the mother who abandoned them when Delphine was four, Vonetta was barely walking, and Fern not yet taking a bottle. Seven years ago.

Their mother, Cecile, is there to pick them up when they arrive, but things are suspicious from the start. Not bothering to help with their bags, Cecile greets her daughters with “Come on,” turns, and begins walking, the gap between mother and daughters growing steadily. At the airport exit Cecile realizes the girls have fallen behind. He second sentence to her daughters? “Y’all have to move if you’re going to be with me.”

That first night at Cecile’s house includes directions to their bedroom, a demand to stay out of the kitchen, dinner from a Chinese take-out, and a visit from three strangers in black t-shirts and jackets with black berets over their Afros, speaking phrases like “Seize the time” and “For the people” and “The time is now” and words ending in tion, ism, and actic.

The next morning Cecile says, “If you girls want breakfast, go’n down to the People’s Center.” At the People’s Center Delphine, Vonetta, and Fern get not only breakfast, but a personal introduction to the Black Panthers. The sisters quickly become part of summer programs at the People’s Center. Yes, there is poster making, lessons about revolution and revolutionaries, and politics, but there’s also free meals and helping the community. The People’s Center provides the mothering that Cecile won’t - and Delphine can’t - provide.

While this story offers readers like me a look into the world of the Black Panthers in the late 1960’s, at it’s core One Crazy Summer is about Delphine and the conflict between her eagerness to mature and her need to be a child. The more I read, the more I liked all three sisters, and the more I longed for them to finally receive what they came all they way to Oakland to get.

And it’s this emotional investment that makes the conclusion (and Rita Williams-Garcia's entire book) extremely satisfying.

Dave the Potter: Artist, Poet, Slave by Laban Carrick Hill

I know that the Caldecott awards are given for illustrations in picture books, but I was quickly caught up in Laban Carrick Hill’s story of Dave the Potter, an artist who created pots to hold grain, salted meat, and memories. A poet who, in simple two-line compositions, etched history and complex ideas into his creations. A slave with a skill possessed by very few people, let alone other slaves.

Bryan Collier’s illustrations certainly play a role in drawing readers in. Each picture is deep and rich, seemingly made of clay themselves, and take readers through the entire process of making a pot as a potter would in early to mid 1800's. Readers can see the pride and care Dave put into each pot and jar.

The book ends with three pages of details about Dave’s life and work mixed in with examples of his poems that are etched into the sides of his pots. There is also a full page with the author’s and illustrator’s notes explaining how they each learned about Dave the Potter and how the book came to be.

Dave the Potter shares a small piece of American history that few people know (at least I didn’t know about it) and middle and upper elementary teachers can use the book as a resource for Black History month, art and pottery, and even poetry.

Ling & Ting: Not Exactly the Same! by Grace Lin

Grace Lin follows up her 2010 Newbery Honor for Where the Mountains Meet the Moon with a 2011 Geisel Honor for Ling & Ting: Not Exactly the Same, showing she can write excellent books for beginning readers as well as novels for the older ones.

Ling and Ting face the same problem as many identical twins. Everyone thinks they are exactly the same, but they always insist, “We are not exactly the same.” Even the barber says so when they go for their haircuts. But Ling sits still for her haircut while Ting fidgets. When hair falls on her nose …

“AHH-CHOOO!” goes Ting. SNIP go the scissors.

If people thought they looked the same before their haircuts, they’ll make no mistake now that Ting has a chunk missing. Right in the front.

The book is divided into six short stories about Ling and Ting, and after the first one, Ting is always missing that chunk of hair. Next, Ling attempts a card trick. Then the sisters make their own dumplings, proving again that they are not exactly the same when one sister makes dump-Lings, while the other makes dump-Tings. Not even their chopstick ability is the same.

It’s when Ting goes to the library that the fun really starts. Ting’s fairy tale book reminds her of something important: her card from Ling’s card trick back in the second story. The final story, entitled “Mixed Up,” then brings in parts of all the previous stories, as Ting makes up a story about two twin girls. Ling is sure she knows this story, and readers will be too, but Ting’s version will have readers laughing right up to the end.

Beginning readers - and the grown-ups who read with them - will love Ling and Ting. Fans of Bink and Gollie, Cowgirl Kate and Cocoa, and Fly Guy will add Ling and Ting to their pile of favorites, and they’ll be watching for more Ling and Ting books in the future. (And so will I.)

When You Are Watching Your Children, Others Are Watching You

mowillemsdoodles.blogspot.com

My latest newspaper column is out today, and it's all about the people who go out in public without children. Some of these folks have grown children. Others have no children. Some are just lucky enough to be able to drop off their children at Grandma's house while they head to the supermarket. And since they don't have any children under their direct and immediate jurisdiction, they take the opportunity to keep an eye on your children.

Here's the original article at the newspaper's site. Here's the printable version.

When parents take their children out in public, their eyes are on their children.  Parents must always be ready to replace the taken, repair the broken, repeat the spoken, and, well, let’s face it.  Kids can be bulls and the world their china shop.

On those infrequent occasions when a parent’s eyes rise above 36 inches to look at their surroundings, they’ll notice that theirs are not the only eyes on the children.  The world is watching. Watching, and holding tightly to their Blue Willow.

Yes, the world is full of watchers, but their methods of observation are as varied as fish in the sea.  Watch the watchers.  Eventually you’ll see them all.

The Smiler - Always has a pleasant smile, no matter the situation. Will describe a three-year-old who’s pulling heads off Barbie dolls as “energetic.” 

The Scowler - Brow always furrowed; sees no good in children’s actions.  Also generally suspicious.  Will think a well-behaved child is “looking for something.”

The Nodder - Head bobs north and south in understanding.  Believes children will be children and accepts it.

The Shaker - Head shakes east and west in frustration.  Believes children should be miniature adults.

The Nostalgic - Eyes misty, the nostalgic reminisces about her own children, often with one or both hands over her heart. 

The Dreamer - Eyes misty, the dreamer’s gaze flutters between your children and her spouse, communicating a “someday, honey” message.

The Forgiver - Known to say, “That’s okay,” sometimes followed with “sweety” or “sweetheart.”.  A child may commandeer a grocery cart and promptly clip an unsuspecting shopper’s ankles, but the forgiver will wince, whisper “That’s okay,” and limp off to the produce section.

The Forgetter - Does not remember A. being a child, B. having a child, or C. the scientific fact that all life begins before adulthood.  Is known to make comments about animals in the wild “eating their young.”

The Peeker - Wants to watch the children, but doesn’t want you to know. Often found behind menus, newspapers, and church bulletins.

The Starer - Will stop all other activities to gawk at the perceived spectacle your child creates.

The Helpful - Will hold a door, carry a bag, and pick up yogurt containers tossed on the floor by toddlers.  Often a smiler.

The Helpless - Wants to help but is unable. This person often has his own children and can’t risk being distracted.

The Help Resistant - Simply cannot believe a child would act like, well, a child.  Receives satisfaction from letting parent, child, and surrounding citizens suffer.  Nose often pointed upward.

The Empathetic - Will cringe at certain behaviors shown by children, not because of the behavior, but because of knowing the Scowlers and Shakers nearby won’t be happy.

The Rocker - Attempts to calm another person’s crying child by gently rocking herself, sans child.

So watch away, you Smilers and Scowlers, Peekers and Starers.  Enjoy the show because one day you’ll have children or grandchildren out in public, and wouldn’t you know it?  They’ll behave like children.

And we’ll be watching.

We Are in a Book! by Mo Willems

Elephant and Piggie have shared the spotlight in twelve books prior to the release of We Are in a Book! (and more to come). Twelve stories featuring birds on heads and party invitations, dancing and throwing and sneezing and flying, and new toys, new friends, and new surprises. Now finally, in lucky book number thirteen, Gerald and Piggie realize that the spotlight is on them.

Piggie: Someone is looking at us.

Gerald: Who is looking at us? A monster?

Piggie: No. It is … a reader! A reader is reading us!

Piggie explains how books and speech bubbles and words work, and the two friends revel in the incomparable coolness of being in a book. Then Piggie wants to have a little fun with the reader - and with Gerald. Piggie decides that the ultimate in hilarity would be to make the reader say a word.  That word?

“Banana.”

See? You’re giggling already. Piggie was right. But when Gerald learns that books have endings, he panics. He doesn’t want the book to end. Thankfully, Piggie has the perfect solution, a solution satisfying to Gerald, Piggie, and readers. One that causes Piggie to say:

Once again Mo Willems has created a laugh-out-loud funny book featuring two beloved characters. (I hope they’re tight with Pigeon, or he might be getting jealous.) Young readers will enjoy seeing how characters react - and interact - with the person holding the book.

If Elephant and Piggie books have been a hit in your home or classroom, We Are in a Book! will be equally welcomed and eagerly read by all their fans. If Elephant and Piggie books have NOT been a hit in your home or classroom, what are you waiting for? That can only mean you don’t have them yet!

Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus

At the beginning of Heart of a Samurai, in 1841, Manjiro is a fourteen-year-old fisherman.  Over the next twelve years of his life he endures a shipwreck, is rescued by American whalers, spends years at sea, and explores both coasts of North America.  At the end of the book he is a man in his mid-twenties, still motivated by his overwhelming desire to return to Japan.

The book is divided into five parts.  After being shipwrecked on a deserted island (part one), Manjiro and his fellow fishermen are rescued by barbarians - westerners, as seen by the Japanese.  Part two tells how Captain William Whitfield of the whaling ship John Howland quickly recognizes Manjiro’s eagerness to learn.  Manjiro learns English, the economic importance of whales, prejudice, and the Captain’s inability to take him back to Japan.  Now calling him John Mung, Whitfield offers to take Manjiro home with him to New Bedford, Connecticut.

Part three details Manjiro’s time in New Bedford learning farm life, going to school, trying to understand the very different American way of life, and continued prejudice.  Part four tells of another whaling trip and Manjiro’s participation in the California gold rush in 1849.  Finally, part five is about Manjiro’s ultimate quest to return home.

That’s a lot of ground (and water) to cover in just under 300 pages.  Just like the novel’s main character, Heart of a Samurai doesn’t stay too long in one place.  Readers must pay close attention to the passage of time.  Many chapters begin by giving a month and a year.  At other times a chapter’s opening paragraph will pass six months.  Chapter 20 begins with “Winter was quiet.” Five lines later it says, “But spring brought ...”  Readers may not know, for example, that whaling voyages literally took years, so missing the passage of time may lead to confusion.

At the same time, the novel’s fast pace never leaves readers in one spot for long.  Manjiro moves from whaling to school to whaling to gold rush, and readers will be eager to see what sort of adventure comes next.

At the end of the book, author Margi Preus includes an extensive glossary of Japanese words, terms, and phrases, whaling terms and parts of a ship, and sailor’s lingo.  (And if one of my oppos proves to be a shonkey, I may tell him to stow it before he finds himself with the devil to pay and no pitch hot.)  Heart of a Samurai will be good for upper elementary and middle school students who know the ropes and who won’t be whistling up a wind when trying a more challenging read.

Dark Emperor & Other Poems of the Night by Joyce Sidman

Dark Emperor & Other Poems of the Night begins with “Welcome to the Night,” an invitation in verse “To all of you who crawl and creep, who buzz and chirp and hoot and peep.”  It’s an evening summons to the animals that wake at dusk to go about their nighttime business, enjoying the cool, damp shadows.  

Poet Joyce Sidman then introduces readers to woodland snails, the primrose moth, raccoons, porcupines, the red eft, and even the Dark Emperor himself, the great horned owl.  Among other animals, there are also poems that mark the coming of the mushrooms and the silent strength of the oak tree.  The book closes with “Moon’s Lament,” where our lunar friend reflects on the night’s events, questions where everyone has gone, and mourns the dawning of a new day.

Dark Emperor could well stand on its own as a book of poems, but the addition of short paragraphs of nonfiction coupled with each poem pushes it to a new level.  Each poem appears on the left of the two page spread with a small illustration.  The right side features a larger illustration (all stunning, I might add, and giving the book an appearance traditionally associated with Caldecott winners rather than Newberys) and the descriptive text.

Readers not only are given a lyrical tour of the nighttime forest, but also learn more details about the poems’ subjects.  Did you know snails have teeth on their tongues?  Did you know that while trees produce food during the day, they use the hours of darkness to make repairs and take in extra water?  Did you know that baby porcupines are called porcupettes, that cricket sounds peak around midnight, or that one mushroom can produce two billion spores?  Hmmm?

Me neither.  Until now.  Just like Sidman’s previous books, Red Sings From Treetops and This Is Just to Say, Dark Emperor will come alive in a teacher’s classroom.  In one book teachers and students will hold in their hands lessons in rhyme and rhythm, imagery and word choice as well as facts about the creatures, both big and small, quiet and loud, of the night.

Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool

Simply, Moon Over Manifest is the story of 12-year-old Abilene Tucker moving to Manifest, Kansas during the summer of 1936.  Abilene has been living on the road with her father, Gideon, riding the rails during the Great Depression.  Now Gideon has decided that it would be better for her to live a more stable life, even if it means being away from him, back in his hometown while he works a railroad job in Des Moines.  

But Moon Over Manifest cannot be described in one simple paragraph.  One story is layered upon another until author Clare Vanderpool has spun enough yarn to keep readers busy trying to connect the seemingly loose ends.  Consider this:

• While in Manifest, Abilene tries to learn the story of her father’s younger days growing up in town.
• Abilene discovers a box of treasures containing several trinkets (a fishing lure, silver dollar, skeleton key, cork) and a number of letters.  Another story develops within those letters.
• Another story is told by Miss Sadie, a diviner, as Abilene comes to work for her during the summer.  Abilene is introduced to Jinx and Ned, two residents of 1918 Manifest.
• Abilene and two friends, Lettie and Ruthanne discover and investigate the Rattler, a Manifest legend, ignoring the warning that appears in the tree house, Fort Treeconderoga.
• The story of Manifest’s history is given in part by Miss Sadie in addition to Hattie Mae Harper’s newspaper articles.

And I’m not even sure that’s it.  Honestly.  Moon Over Manifest demands a second read.  Just looking back to double check facts I’ve already noticed two or three clues laid out in early chapters.  

Remember how Holes had Stanley’s story at Camp Green Lake, Stanley’s personal history, the story of Madam Zeroni and Stanley’s no-good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-grandfather, and the doomed romance of schoolteacher Katherine Barlow and Sam the Onion Man?  Remember how they all come together seamlessly at the end?  (Sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.)

Or remember Walk Two Moons?  There was Sal’s journey across America with her grandparents, Sal’s family history in Kentucky, and the story Phoebe Winterbottom, Margaret Cadaver, and the potential lunatic.  Again, three yarns knit seamlessly into one story tapestry with no loose ends.

Books like these with multiple story lines are some of my favorites, and Moon Over Manifest ranks right up there.  Readers will be kept guessing, at times sure they’ve got it figured out while a chapter later re-evaluating their previously drawn conclusions.  In the end readers will want to race forward to see the spectacular conclusion.

Then readers can turn back to page one and slowly savor the story a second time.

Interrupting Chicken by David Ezra Stein

The cover of Interrupting Chicken pretty much explains the story.  Papa is ready to read the little red chicken a bedtime story, yet even on the book’s cover, the little red chicken doesn’t allow readers to get to author David Ezra Stein’s name before interrupting.

Even though she promises Papa that she won’t interrupt that evening’s stories - “Oh no, Papa.  I’ll be good.” - the little red chicken just can’t resist.  Papa’s first story is Hansel and Gretel.  After the children find the house made of candy and the old woman invites them to come inside, just before they follow her ...

“Out jumped a little red chicken, and she said, ‘DON’T GO IN!  SHE’S A WITCH!’  So Hansel and Gretel didn’t.  THE END!”

Whoops.  Papa reminds little red chicken not to get so involved in the story, to relax so she can fall asleep.  The next story is Little Red Riding Hood.  Just as Red is about to respond to the stranger she meets in the woods on the path to Grandma’s house … well, you can guess what happens.  Papa tries Chicken Little, again with predictable results.  The little red chicken prevents a sky-is-falling panic by announcing it was only an acorn.

And with that, Papa is out of stories.  He suggests that the little red chicken tell him a bedtime story instead.

She agrees and chooses one of her own stories, Bedtime for Papa by CHiKn.  Then, wouldn’t you know it, just as the story gets rolling, another interruption.  This time it’s Papa doing the interrupting, but for a totally different reason.

Interrupting Chicken won a 2011 Caldecott Honor for its illustrations.  I’m not much of an art critic - enough of one, maybe, to say that these are bold illustrations and that I like the added touches of candy spilling out from beneath the pages of Hansel and Gretel and the crayon artwork of the little red chicken’s story - so I’m not really qualified to comment on pictures.  But I do feel comfortable recommending the book for young readers.  It’s laugh-out-loud funny, especially when the reader puts the proper excitement into the little red chicken’s interruptions.

Snow! Let's Go Outside to Play!

We're at the height of winter here in Wisconsin.  There's been snow on the ground for two months and three more months of snow are still coming ... and it's snowing right now as I type this introduction.  It's getting to that point of the school year when students and teachers start thinking about the possibility of a snow day.  I ain't sayin'.  I'm just sayin'.

And that means going outside to play.  To everyone who lives in a similar climate, my latest newspaper column will be preaching to the choir.  But for those of you who live where sandals never get stored away and dressing warm means taking a sweatshirt "just in case," this might be an educational article.

Either way, I hope you enjoy it.  Here's the original on the newspaper's site, and here's the printable version.

Getting ready to play outside in the winter is a unique childhood event.  Yes, grown-ups still play outside, but to adults, getting ready is just a necessary step.  To kids, getting ready is an experience unto itself.

Every generation shares this experience, but today’s collection of pint-sized Arctic explorers benefits from twenty-first century technological advancements.

Have you seen the equipment kids are wearing outside these days?  It’s more than plain old winter clothes.  This stuff is micro-fleeced, moisture-wicking, overlapping, synthetic creations from genius designers who remember, as children, sacrificing personal warmth at the altar of frozen fun.

In my day jackets were purchased to fit.  “Stand up,” Mom would say.  “Put your arms down.  Stand normal.  Let me check those sleeves.  Yes, good.  Right where they need to be.”  Gloves, or mittens more accurately, were knit by Grandma to fit.  Cover the hand, cuff at the wrist, good to go.

Then the moment you started digging in the snow, the sleeves slipped up, the mittens slipped down, and your exposed wrists entered the first stages of frostbite.

Today kids are wearing gloves that nearly reach their elbows with snow-stopping buckles and Velcro straps.  Jacket sleeves have an under layer designed to go inside the glove complete with a thumb hole to keep it from riding up.  We had shirts with long sleeves.  You’d bunch the cuff in your hand then try to put on your jacket with clenched fists.

Today’s kids have boots with super-grip soles and elastic ties and laces and more Velcro straps.  They’re slip-proof, cold-proof, snow-proof and water-proof.  

My boots weren’t slip-proof as much as they were slip-ready.  You’d zoom across any patch of ice, snow or wet pavement.  Their insulation was called another pair of socks.  And because, like the jacket, the boots were purchased to fit, extra socks packed your toes tighter than then snow in Frosty’s bottom layer.  Water proofing came from empty bread bags around each foot.  Not exactly moisture-wicking.

Today’s snow pants also have two layers, one inside the boot to the ankle and a second over the boot to the heel.  No way snow gets inside.  My snow pants welcomed snow like Vegas welcomes tourists.  Boots never stayed tucked, and the exposed inch of skin above the boot quickly matched your frostbitten wrists.  

Yet the more things change, the more they stay the same.  The equipment may be updated, but the process remains tried and true.

Sit down.  Put on boots.

Stand up.  Put on jacket.  Grab snow pants.

Sit down. Take off boots.  Start to put on snow pants.

Stand up.  Take off jacket.  Buckle shoulder straps of snow pants.

Sit down.  Put on boots.

Stand up.  Put on jacket.  Zip.

Put on gloves.  Grab hat.

Take off gloves.  Put on hat.

Put on gloves.  Find Mom.  Ask her to tuck the gloves under the jacket sleeves.

(Alternatively, some children prefer to put on gloves before jacket resulting in perfectly tucked gloves.  These children still need Mom to zip.)

And hey, would you look at that?  It’s snowing.  Time to go outside aqznmd p;l.asjyuh.

Right.  Sorry.  Got a little excited there.  I need to finish the article before I put on my mittens.

Then it’ll be time to go outside and play.

A Sick Day for Amos McGee by Philip C. Stead and Erin E. Stead

Amos McGee is a responsible man, rising early every morning.  He always wears a fresh-pressed uniform, eats his sensible breakfast, and takes the 6 a.m. bus to work at the zoo.  Amos McGee appears to be a man content with his life as well.  Even as the city has grown up around him, he continues to live in the same modest house, now sandwiched between high rise apartments.

Every day at work Amos McGee makes time for his friends.  He plays chess with the elephant, who is very thoughtful.  He races the tortoise, a tough competitor.  The penguin is shy, but Amos sits with him.  He always has a hanky for rhinoceros’s runny nose.  And at the end of the day he shares a storybook with owl, who doesn’t like the dark.

So what happens when the routine changes?  “One day Amos awoke with the sniffles, and the sneezes, and the chills.”  What happens if all the animals wait for their friend, Amos, but he never arrives?  They do what friends do, of course.

They go to him.  There are games and runny noses and quiet visits and contests and stories and even a pot of tea.  All on A Sick Day for Amos McGee.

The 2011 Caldecott Medal winner was illustrated by Erin E. Stead using woodblock printing and pencil.  Minimal color is used creating a look and mood to match the quiet, contemplative story.  The story, while featuring an older gentleman and zoo animals, could easily be used in classrooms to discuss friendship.  Despite their differences Amos McGee and the animals not only share time together as friends, but they do for one another as friends do.

2011 Geisel Award - Some Initial Thoughts

The Newbery and Caldecott Awards might get the lion's share of the attention when ALA announces its awards, but the Geisel Award for "the most distinguished American book for beginning readers" is one that Help Readers Love Reading anticipates just as much each year.  And in 2011 the Geisel Medal and Honor books are...

Geisel Honor Books

We Are In a Book by Mo Willems - This is the only Elephant and Piggie book not in my personal collection. This will soon be rectified.  It's not that I didn't think it was worthy of inclusion in the collection or anything, I just ... well ... ah, heck.  I forgot.  By the way, how long should an author dominate an award (see here and here) before his name is added to the award?  That's 3 of 4 years!  The Mo Geisel Award?  The Geisel Mo-mento?

Ling and Ting: Not Exactly the Same by Grace Lin - A Newbery Honor in 2010 and a Geisel Honor in 2011 for Grace Lin.  If Ling and Ting is as good as Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, then this award is well deserved. 

Geisel Medal Winner

Bink and Gollie by Kate DiCamillo and Allison McGee - Can't wait to announce this one to the second and third graders who heard Bink and Gollie read aloud earlier this year.  They loved it and will be thrilled to know that the grown-ups loved it too.