Thursday, June 18, 2009


Charlotte's Web is long gone, but not a bit forgotten. Though his lip began to quiver a bit at Charolett's passing, no tears were shed. A sniffle or two perhaps, but no tears. He laughed and snickered with Templeton the rat and was delighted with the goose's stuttering speech (my favorite character personally). He thought Mrs. Arable quite wrong about a barnyard being a terrible place for young children and thought slops sounded just atrocious. The smashing of Templeton's spoiled egg caused a turned in face all scrunched up at the smell and the fair made him ask about three or four times (in that chapter alone) if we could go to one of those. Now small spiders are gracing his hands as he finds them all over the garden and carries them about. (He still exclaims panic over large spiders though.) All in all, rave reviews and quite a quick read. I think this one took less than two weeks. So we are on to the next book: Winnie-the-Pooh.

Now I was a bit concerned with this due to which copy of Winnie the Pooh we own. You see, it is so old there is no ISBN number to get a picture from Google images. After much searching I stumbled onto it by adding the word "vintage." Moreover, it's copyright is 1926. There are no colored pictures except the solitary bear in yellow on the front. The red canvas book has long since lost, what I believe, was gold sparkly lines bordering the front and rear covers trying to make it appealing to young children. This is not Disney. The language is not contemporary at all. It is the sort of book that if taken to the Antiques Roadshow the expert looks at you in bewilderment and exclaims "Why were you handling this, let alone reading it to your child!?" It is one of those books that doesn't get to reside on the child's bookshelf and only gets to be read with Mommy taking it down from her bookshelf. But I don't care; I love it. I believe it was my grandparent's, and I know it was my mother's. In any case, what it has in sentimentality, it totally lacks in flash. Small Barracuda boys are a bit addicted to flash.

The greatest thing has happened though: he loves it. Since Saturday's beginning there hasn't been a night which goes by that a request for at least a chapter isn't sprinkled into conversation. Tonight, after getting in trouble for sneaking peas from the garden (I literally had to tell my child at dinner he must finish his strawberry shortcake before he could go eat our garden peas!) his quivering little voice asked, "Can we still read?" He adores Pooh's bewildered antics. He understands the complexity of language and comprehends the story line. No Disney, No color, Hardly any pictures....a hit! Whew! Take that flash! At this rate we are going to be moving on to Stuart Little by Monday of next week. Wow, so much for my dubious mothering.

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