I grew up with a dear Mama that read to me endlessly and encouraged my appetitive for books as I grew bigger. I loved that thin paper of our Book Orders, Personal Pan Pizzas, the pretty displays at the Book Fair...I was definitely the child that felt a dizzy spell coming on when we got to go to the School Library as a class. I was not, however the sweet obedient one that sat in the circle and listened to some bologna about the dewey decibel system (come on, I eventually learned it!). I was the one that recognized an opportunity to escape, in the distraction of a lecture, into the mysteries of exotic places. One such place I remember was a full three book cases away from Teacher and it held the entire collection of Mr Men and Little Miss books. They happened to be so small that they fit in my hands perfectly. There was also the turn-style where I was introduced to Greek Mythology, the very bottom shelf in the back where I found the first copy of The Secret Garden I had ever known, and the list goes on infinitely.
Back to reality. And the reality is that Oliver couldn't care less about reading stories (well being read to). His passion lies somewhere between crawling up and down off the rocker as I sit in it and yanking all the books out of the self; sometimes one by one, sometimes by the arm-full. I don't mind this as much as one might suppose-I'm reading children's books after all! Instead of getting frustrated that he slams the book closed and waddles off to destroy something nearby, I just continue reading. He will walk by occasionally to look at the pictures I'm ranting on about, give me a look like "Hmm, its OK I guess" and walk off again.
I'm not sure if he is destined to inherit his Father's Condition of un-voracious-reader-ness, but It might be possible. When we got pregnant, it seems, was when I started to quote Mother Goose. It was at this moment that my eyes were opened to the fact that maybe not everyone was brought up with these classics, but I'm not fully convinced. Andrew would stare and I'm fancied him thinking,"What on Earth could she be saying now?" When Andrew reads to Oliver it seems like Old M. Goose usually makes an appearance. I can't hold back giggling as he insists on exaggerating how horrible they sound without an English accent.
Here are some facts about the old girl:
1) The first book published with a title of "Mother Goose" was by Charles Perrault in 1695 and was French.
2) In 1729 it was translated into English
3) Some stories originally included were: Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots, and Cinderella
4)Obviously Charles Perrault was freaking awesome
5) "Mother Goose's Melody" came out in 1781 and changed the focus from fairy tales to rhymes and is how we know the collection today- more or less.
6) The year we signed the Constitution, the first American edition was printed (1787)
7) Old women in Wales used to dress just like this
Oliver's style of "active storytime" suits me fine, w/ or w/o Mother Goose. The moments where he seems really interested are just plain exciting and one day I know that he will either become interested or that I can always know I tried. As for right now I'm satisfied. Rocking Chair, sweet stories, beautiful pictures, a cozy room, and a freshly bathed fat little boy to keep me company- that sounds like the makings of a good children's book to me.
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