My Book About Me

imgres-1Spending time outdoors is a must during the fleeting summer months so when the rains come being stuck indoors with three boys can try the patience of a saint.

Much to the chagrin of my oldest son, I am not a craft mom.  Our craft cupboard is a sad collection of things I have picked up from the dollar store and anything that has been gifted to him over the years from his more creative aunts.  So crafting in our house only lasts so long.

Much to my chagrin, the boys don’t want to spend rainy days curled up with books for hours on end, reading silently.  In fact the only way for me to enjoy solitary, daytime reading is relaxing my “no Wii” during the weekdays rule and that is a slippery slope.

My Book About Me has proven to be this summer’s favourite rainy day past time.

My Book About Me is written by Me, Myself with some help from my friends Dr. Seuss and Roy Mc Kie.

That’s right.  Written my Me, Myself.  Or in most cases, by your child, about themselves.

The book starts off fairly benign.

First of all there is one thing you should know.

Am I a boy?

Or am I a girl?

Well, I’ll tell you.

I am a __________________ (write your answer here).

I weigh ____________ pounds.

How tall am I?  I am ______ feet, _________ inches tall.

Pages and pages capture information about the here and now of your child’s life but of course things quickly get silly in that delightful Dr. Seuss way.

I can make noises, (check all that apply)

Like a rooster

Like a dog

Like a cat

Like a goat

Like a sheep

Like a goose

Like a train

My family loves my noises. Yes or No?

The boys work away on their books independently, and every once in a while I hear a giggle or a rooster noise.

Once completed these books will hold a special place on our shelves as a snapshot of who my boys were when they were 5 and 6 years old . . .

And their wobbly, misshapen letters will continue to tug at my heartstrings long after they are too big to sit in my lap and discuss the merits of life as a giraffe.*

*I wish I were a giraffe/ I am glad I’m not a giraffe.  Check one.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

imagesCAXJ02G8This staple of Christmas books is one of our family favourites.  Who doesn’t love a Seussical rhyme scheme, a dastardly plot to ruin Christmas, and a story that ends with the villain harmoniously reintegrated into the community he so hated?

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?
“It came without ribbons!  It came without tags!
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And then he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

And what happened then…?
Well…in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch’s small heart
Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,
He wizzed with his load through the bright morning light
And he brought back the toys!  And the food for the feast!
And he…

…HE HIMSELF…!

The Grinch carved the roast beast!

Who doesn’t love the sheer exuberance of Dr. Seuss’s language?  Like Shakespeare, he has contributed to the English language with his wonderfully apt neologisms.  We have him to thank for the word grinch, a word not limited to the Christmas season but useful all year ’round.  And, really, I do so identify with The Grinch.  All year ’round I can be heard complaining, “Oh, the noise!  Oh, the Noise!  Noise!  Noise!  Noise!”  And my puzzler gets sore.

My heart is not two sizes too small, but I get you, Grinch, and I celebrate your grinchiness before and after your Christmas morning epiphany and transformation.