Evaluating the Loot
The kids received several books for Christmas. That’s a good thing as far as I’m concerned. As far as the kids are concerned, they’d probably rather have a few more of foreign made plastic noisemakers that are coated in paint that dissolves quickly in saliva, but I’m happy with them receiving books.
Books are educational, even the surprisingly high percentage of them with spelling, grammatical, or factual errors. We have a few books that remember the “i before e” rule, but forget the “except after c” part, thus producing gems like “recieve” and “wierd.” We have a few books with bizarrely constructed sentences, such as anything with Cookie Monster. And don’t even get me started on the physical impossibilities of Harold and his never-ending purple crayon.
Books fit nicely on a bookshelf, too. When books overtake the bedroom floor, I spend a couple minutes retuning them all to the shelf, and suddenly we can walk through their bedroom without stepping on anything besides the clothes littering the floor. I can’t say that about the playroom where plastic noisemakers are everywhere. After spending a couple minutes picking up the playroom, I have a pile of Little People paraphernalia, a pile of blocks, a pile of tiny, orphaned accessories, and an assortment of large items too bulky to fit on a shelf. Those toddler-sized plush licensed character armchairs don’t fit on a shelf as well as books.
I’m happy for the kids to receive books, but they still find a way to make a nuisance with them. They received a few lift-the-flap books, which the kids interpret as rip-off-the-flap. It’s annoying that the kids make a mess with deposed flaps, but it’s more annoying that they kill the suspense of who’s hiding behind the rocks by permanently removing the rocks. They do the same with pop-up books. There’s no reason to read “Where’s Max?” after the boys tore Max from his hinges the second time he popped out of the plants.
They also received a racecar book. This is a charming book with brightly colored racecars “racing” through the pages, and one disappears each time you turn the page. Only the winning car remains at the end, and a light sensor triggers a racecar sound when the final page is turned, thus ruining the book’s charm.
The boys, being boys, like racecars along with most machines, and want me to read this book. Abbie, however, throws a convulsing tantrum if I try to read it. She likes cars, at least as much as any girl with a preference for horsies and kitties can like cars, so her tantrums are a mystery. She’s fine if the boys look at it, so I know the pictures don’t upset her. She’s fine when the racecar sound plays, so I know this cheap effect doesn’t upset her. She’s fine when I read other books the boys choose, so I know she’s not being a control freak (in this one very specific instance). When I start to read the simple rhymes on each page, though, she throws a fit. It’s like she thinks rhyming couplets are too delicate to be used with cars, and should only be used to describe animals and their cute actions.
I deal with her by steering the boys to a different book, preferably something animal-based. I feel bad about giving into Abbie’s tantrums, but the boys don’t care when I switch books on them. As long they soak in the colorful pictures, and listen to the language dance across their ears, they’re fine. If I choose a rip-off-the-flap book, that just provides extra entertainment. And if I select a book with a built in plastic noisemaker, that’s a bonus.
Books are educational, even the surprisingly high percentage of them with spelling, grammatical, or factual errors. We have a few books that remember the “i before e” rule, but forget the “except after c” part, thus producing gems like “recieve” and “wierd.” We have a few books with bizarrely constructed sentences, such as anything with Cookie Monster. And don’t even get me started on the physical impossibilities of Harold and his never-ending purple crayon.
Books fit nicely on a bookshelf, too. When books overtake the bedroom floor, I spend a couple minutes retuning them all to the shelf, and suddenly we can walk through their bedroom without stepping on anything besides the clothes littering the floor. I can’t say that about the playroom where plastic noisemakers are everywhere. After spending a couple minutes picking up the playroom, I have a pile of Little People paraphernalia, a pile of blocks, a pile of tiny, orphaned accessories, and an assortment of large items too bulky to fit on a shelf. Those toddler-sized plush licensed character armchairs don’t fit on a shelf as well as books.
I’m happy for the kids to receive books, but they still find a way to make a nuisance with them. They received a few lift-the-flap books, which the kids interpret as rip-off-the-flap. It’s annoying that the kids make a mess with deposed flaps, but it’s more annoying that they kill the suspense of who’s hiding behind the rocks by permanently removing the rocks. They do the same with pop-up books. There’s no reason to read “Where’s Max?” after the boys tore Max from his hinges the second time he popped out of the plants.
They also received a racecar book. This is a charming book with brightly colored racecars “racing” through the pages, and one disappears each time you turn the page. Only the winning car remains at the end, and a light sensor triggers a racecar sound when the final page is turned, thus ruining the book’s charm.
The boys, being boys, like racecars along with most machines, and want me to read this book. Abbie, however, throws a convulsing tantrum if I try to read it. She likes cars, at least as much as any girl with a preference for horsies and kitties can like cars, so her tantrums are a mystery. She’s fine if the boys look at it, so I know the pictures don’t upset her. She’s fine when the racecar sound plays, so I know this cheap effect doesn’t upset her. She’s fine when I read other books the boys choose, so I know she’s not being a control freak (in this one very specific instance). When I start to read the simple rhymes on each page, though, she throws a fit. It’s like she thinks rhyming couplets are too delicate to be used with cars, and should only be used to describe animals and their cute actions.
I deal with her by steering the boys to a different book, preferably something animal-based. I feel bad about giving into Abbie’s tantrums, but the boys don’t care when I switch books on them. As long they soak in the colorful pictures, and listen to the language dance across their ears, they’re fine. If I choose a rip-off-the-flap book, that just provides extra entertainment. And if I select a book with a built in plastic noisemaker, that’s a bonus.
posted by Matt at
11:44 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home