S went to Africa for work on Saturday, and she's not getting back until tomorrow night, so it's been just me and the little man for the past week. It's been fine. As it turns out, being a single parent is not that hard if you put your kid in daycare for 10 hours a day. I have him for about an hour in the morning, and two hours at night (plus wake-up duty), and that's it. And some of that time he's strapped into his chair eating, anyway. Also, as I've mentioned before, he's noticeably less fussy when S isn't around. I'm not sure exactly why this is, but my theory is that his whining works better on S. I'm not claiming to be immune to it -- he's definitely broken me a few times this week, and I've acquiesced to his demands for "George" (Curious George cartoons on the iPad) -- but I think I have a bit more resolve than S. Overall, Lil' S and I have gotten into a nice little routine, and things have gone fairly well.
Part of our routine is that I read him a book or two (or eight if he has it his way) before he goes to sleep each night. A few of them are good. Most of them are so-so. A few are bad. It's weird too because the worst ones are the so-called classics. The Very Hungry Caterpillar is terrible, for instance. Actually everything Eric Carle writes is pretty lame. The drawings are good, if you're into that type of art, but the stories (if you can even call them that) are super lame, even by kid standards. In The Very Hungry Caterpillar, for instance, 95% of the book is just a list of all the things the caterpillar ate. There's no creativity whatsoever.
Then some other books have the opposite problem. They try to be too creative, and it ends up being confusing or a bunch of nonsense. There's this one called Sam Meets Bernadette about these two fish. Sam is a lonely goldfish who only swims in circles until another fish Bernadette comes and shows him all the wonderful things outside of his bowl that he never noticed before. It's actually a cute premise. But the problem is that all the things she points out aren't actually what they are. For instance, she sees a pair of glasses and calls it a butterfly. The book is suppose to be a life-is-what-you-make-it type of thing, but it's lost on a toddler who's still in his "pointing things out" prime. So Lil' S, will shout out "glasses", but then the text says it's a butterfly. I don't want to confuse him, so I just end up ad-libbing the entire thing, "And then they saw some glasses... And then they saw some bananas... And then they saw..."
I'll give Sam Meets Bernadette a pass since it might be good when he gets older and gets the gimmick. The one that I absolutely will not give a pass is Wheedle on the Needle. I want so much to like this book because it's got some hometown flavor to it, but the story is awful. It reads like something that would be cranked out in a creative writing class by a mediocre fourth-grader -- like by a student who thinks the way to be creative is to put characters in a series of disjointed fantastical situations without much coherent explanation or flow. Here's the story of Wheedle on the Needle: There's this giant creature named Wheedle who lives in peace in the Pacific Northwest until human construction workers disturb him. He tries to steal their tools and scare them, but it doesn't work, so he goes to Mount Rainier. But they disturb him there too. So he puts a bunch of clouds in a sack and goes to the Space Needle. His clouds cause it to rain all the time, which stifles the workers' noises. But it also annoys the people of Seattle, so the mayor gets the people to sew him earmuffs. He's so happy with his earmuffs that his nose starts to glow (because that's what happens when Wheedles get happy), and his nose is the blinking light on the Space Needle.
How is this book so famous? I have the 35th Anniversary Edition, which means it's still going strong, and it's nearly as old as I am. That's outrageous. I could write a story this well in an hour. I'll give you the broad strokes right now off the top of my head. It's called the Papitol on the Capitol. It's about a woman named Papitol who likes skipping rocks in Rock Creek, until one day the people of DC tell her she can't do it anymore because it might hurt the fish that swim in it. She gets mad at being rebuffed, so she arms herself with a sword and a laurel wreath shield and sets out to go on a killing spree. But before she can do so, an elderly statesmen and a his talking crow persuade her against it. Papitol is so distraught about what she almost did, and she fears that she might actually do it for real in the future, so she throws herself off the Washington Monument (which is still under construction) into a bunch of wet cement. Her body is never recovered -- it seemingly disappears after hitting the ground -- and the next morning a new statue bearing her likeness shows up on top of the Capitol overlooking its entrance. Paptiol on the Capitiol. What do you think?
OK, so my book might be a bit macabre for kids, but as far as the story goes, it is every bit on par with Wheedle on the Needle. Although, admittedly, a big part of my issue with Wheedle is that I find the author's notes, so blowhard-y and full of humblebrags that I downgrade it a few levels. Objectively it's a 3.5 out of 10, but I give it a 1. You might too in a minute. Here's the author's blurb before the story:
Anyway ...
Another thing Lil' S and I have been doing is playing with this toy truck my parents bought him. They wanted to get him something he could get in and ride, so my mom went online and bought this:
In her defense, you can't really tell how big it is in the online advertisement. Also, he really likes it. It's remote control, and he can't really work the control, so he just spins it in circles randomly and runs it into furniture until it gets stuck, and then he picks it up and moves it with his hands. Or he just watches me drive it around our living room, which is fun -- well, not really fun, it's not like I'd just driving it around if I was home alone. But it's fun within the realm of activities we can do together.
We're both a little afraid of that thing too. If I drive it directly at him, he'll often run away and say, "scared, Daddy, scared". Then sometimes late at night when everybody but me is asleep, it will make a noise and lunge forward a few centimeters even though the remote control is on the bookshelf and nobody is touching it. Spooky.
Alright, that'll do er. Until next time ...
Part of our routine is that I read him a book or two (or eight if he has it his way) before he goes to sleep each night. A few of them are good. Most of them are so-so. A few are bad. It's weird too because the worst ones are the so-called classics. The Very Hungry Caterpillar is terrible, for instance. Actually everything Eric Carle writes is pretty lame. The drawings are good, if you're into that type of art, but the stories (if you can even call them that) are super lame, even by kid standards. In The Very Hungry Caterpillar, for instance, 95% of the book is just a list of all the things the caterpillar ate. There's no creativity whatsoever.
Then some other books have the opposite problem. They try to be too creative, and it ends up being confusing or a bunch of nonsense. There's this one called Sam Meets Bernadette about these two fish. Sam is a lonely goldfish who only swims in circles until another fish Bernadette comes and shows him all the wonderful things outside of his bowl that he never noticed before. It's actually a cute premise. But the problem is that all the things she points out aren't actually what they are. For instance, she sees a pair of glasses and calls it a butterfly. The book is suppose to be a life-is-what-you-make-it type of thing, but it's lost on a toddler who's still in his "pointing things out" prime. So Lil' S, will shout out "glasses", but then the text says it's a butterfly. I don't want to confuse him, so I just end up ad-libbing the entire thing, "And then they saw some glasses... And then they saw some bananas... And then they saw..."
I'll give Sam Meets Bernadette a pass since it might be good when he gets older and gets the gimmick. The one that I absolutely will not give a pass is Wheedle on the Needle. I want so much to like this book because it's got some hometown flavor to it, but the story is awful. It reads like something that would be cranked out in a creative writing class by a mediocre fourth-grader -- like by a student who thinks the way to be creative is to put characters in a series of disjointed fantastical situations without much coherent explanation or flow. Here's the story of Wheedle on the Needle: There's this giant creature named Wheedle who lives in peace in the Pacific Northwest until human construction workers disturb him. He tries to steal their tools and scare them, but it doesn't work, so he goes to Mount Rainier. But they disturb him there too. So he puts a bunch of clouds in a sack and goes to the Space Needle. His clouds cause it to rain all the time, which stifles the workers' noises. But it also annoys the people of Seattle, so the mayor gets the people to sew him earmuffs. He's so happy with his earmuffs that his nose starts to glow (because that's what happens when Wheedles get happy), and his nose is the blinking light on the Space Needle.
How is this book so famous? I have the 35th Anniversary Edition, which means it's still going strong, and it's nearly as old as I am. That's outrageous. I could write a story this well in an hour. I'll give you the broad strokes right now off the top of my head. It's called the Papitol on the Capitol. It's about a woman named Papitol who likes skipping rocks in Rock Creek, until one day the people of DC tell her she can't do it anymore because it might hurt the fish that swim in it. She gets mad at being rebuffed, so she arms herself with a sword and a laurel wreath shield and sets out to go on a killing spree. But before she can do so, an elderly statesmen and a his talking crow persuade her against it. Papitol is so distraught about what she almost did, and she fears that she might actually do it for real in the future, so she throws herself off the Washington Monument (which is still under construction) into a bunch of wet cement. Her body is never recovered -- it seemingly disappears after hitting the ground -- and the next morning a new statue bearing her likeness shows up on top of the Capitol overlooking its entrance. Paptiol on the Capitiol. What do you think?
[Interesting tidbit: Papitol faces east, away from the National Mall. The official entrance is also on the east side. Somebody told me that this is because when the Capitol was built they anticipated the city growing more to the east, but instead it grew northwest. I have no idea if this is actually true or not, but it sounds good.]
OK, so my book might be a bit macabre for kids, but as far as the story goes, it is every bit on par with Wheedle on the Needle. Although, admittedly, a big part of my issue with Wheedle is that I find the author's notes, so blowhard-y and full of humblebrags that I downgrade it a few levels. Objectively it's a 3.5 out of 10, but I give it a 1. You might too in a minute. Here's the author's blurb before the story:
One day in 1974 I set my mind to creating a story about and for Seattle. Using the Space Needle as a background, I began the creative process. Fortunately and unfortunately, the only word I could think of that rhymed with Needle was Wheedle. Later that day as I walked in quiet rain, the peace and tranquility of the moment was shattered by a loud whistle from a ferry on the Sound. Of these tiny seeds the story was sown.See what I mean? My favorite part is "Fortunately and unfortunately ..." Could you get any more humblebraggadocious? And here's the "About the Author" at the end:
I have spent my life as a dream-maker. To be able to crawl inside a story as it is being created is an unbelievable and delightful experience. By reading this book and others I have written, you are able to share my experiences. I have written and published 320 books or so, and it is only by the grace of God that I continue this amazing adventure.Boy, can't wait to sink my teeth into those other 319! People think Gwyneth Paltrow is pretentious , but I put "I have spent my life as a dream-maker" (not a dreamer, a dream-maker, as in one who makes dreams) up there with anything she's ever said. And at least she's a Hollywood megastar, not a mediocre children's author. I know the comparison between Gwyneth Paltrow and Stephen Cosgrove has been done so many times before that it's a cliché, but it's just too apt for me to pass up.
Anyway ...
Another thing Lil' S and I have been doing is playing with this toy truck my parents bought him. They wanted to get him something he could get in and ride, so my mom went online and bought this:
In her defense, you can't really tell how big it is in the online advertisement. Also, he really likes it. It's remote control, and he can't really work the control, so he just spins it in circles randomly and runs it into furniture until it gets stuck, and then he picks it up and moves it with his hands. Or he just watches me drive it around our living room, which is fun -- well, not really fun, it's not like I'd just driving it around if I was home alone. But it's fun within the realm of activities we can do together.
We're both a little afraid of that thing too. If I drive it directly at him, he'll often run away and say, "scared, Daddy, scared". Then sometimes late at night when everybody but me is asleep, it will make a noise and lunge forward a few centimeters even though the remote control is on the bookshelf and nobody is touching it. Spooky.
Alright, that'll do er. Until next time ...
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