Small children have great books. There are books that make sound when you turn the page, books that make sound when you push a button, books that make sound when you push on the monster’s stomach. There are board books and big books and little books and soft books. There are books to go in the bathtub and spiral bound books and books with little holes and peekaboo slots. There are books with trucks with eyes, and fish with clothes, and drawings and illustrations and paintings and watercolors. There are books with titles like, “Giraffe and a Half” and “Things that Go!”, “If You’re Happy”, and “The Little Blue Truck.”
The best part is that at least half of them are poems. Good poems. Rhyming rhythm poems. Poems I understand. Poems that rhyme “fiddle” with “diddle” and “wagon” with “dragon”. Real solid poems. Poems that make you nod your head to the beat as you read about who went up a hill with who and who fetched a pail of water.
Some people look down their noses at the simplicity. I totally embrace it. I can predict the endings! I can do all the voices so my children think I’m hysterical! I can finish the whole thing without falling asleep! I love it.
If we are having a rough day, frantic day, busy day (any day)- it is nice to spend all days ending in books. It is quite satisfying to end our day with simplicity. There are castles and kings and jungles and animals and whatever problem there is- it will all be solved in 10 pages of very large font. And trains go in the station, and trucks to the garage, bears to their den, babies to bed. And we all say goodnight to the Moon.