The other day I was riding along in the car with the girls. My Garmin, friendly little device that it is, popped up a little reminder. Apparently my map needed to be updated. Thanks for that, Garmin. I found myself saying, not entirely under my breath, “My map is old, my teeth are gold. I have a bird I like to hold.”
Ellie and Lorelei took up the refrain, and started to giggle. “Hey mama– that rhymes,” Lorelei snorted in between chuckles. “Uh, mom? What’s wrong with you?” Ellie asked. Her tone was serious. Somehow it shook me back to reality. Uh, what was wrong with me? The words that had just come out of my mouth in the same strange, permanent, parental haze that most of my words do were actually a bit of a surprise even to me. “Well, Ellie,” I replied, “Apparently I’ve had a lobotomy performed by the good Dr. Seuss.” “What’s a… a… lobotomy?” they piped up in tandem. And that’s when I knew that not only was my over-sharing parent award totally in the bag for 2014, but that it was also maybe time to change the topic. “It just means that we’ve read too many rhyming books lately,” was my final answer.
And it got me thinking– this whole reading to kids thing– is there some recipe? Is it like shoes where you just pick something in the correct size and you’re good to go? Bad metaphor, I know– because, like, what exactly is the orthopedic shoe of literature? And also? Someone get me that book because it sounds comfy as all get out.