Remembering Sendak

It was a story I would ask my mother to recall over and over again: "Tell me about the time you realized I could read."

She always indulged me.

The details are fuzzy but the gist of it was this: I brought her a copy of Little Bear, illustrated by Maurice Sendak, opened it, and began reading to her. At first she assumed I'd memorized the words, since it had been read to me so many times. But there was something about the way I said the words that felt different. It seemed like I was reading them. So she handed me another book (I don't know which one but apparently I'd never seen it before) and off I went: I was reading.

And so Little Bear will always have a place in my heart. It was the book that launched a thousand (and many more) books for me. But In the Night Kitchen and Where the Wild Things Are would always be special too. And the soundtrack of my childhood? Hands down: "Really Rosie."

Last winter I caught an incredible interview with Maurice Sendak on WHYY's Fresh Air. It came on the radio when Ellie and the babies and I waited in the car on a bleak December day, while Leo was at speech therapy. I don't know how I managed it but I kept the babies sleeping the whole time and I was able to listen to the entire piece, as Sendak spoke of his childhood and his relationship with his partner and his thoughts on mortality and art and creativity. I was riveted, and I also (surprise!) sobbed through most of it.

One quote from the interview stayed with me, long after it was over, because it is so very true. Sendak was lucky to live a long life and he knew this, but the price of doing so was that he outlived a great many people that he loved:

"I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more."

Yes. This. Exactly. Thank you for all that you did, Maurice Sendak. You will be missed.

An Obsession I Can Support, A Sighting, And One of Those Transcendental Moments

I’ve said it before: It is so much fun to share things I loved as a child, with the kids.

One of my favorites? "Really Rosie".

I’ve mentioned it here before, so it’s not exactly news. Nerd alert: I bought the "Really Rosie" book and soundtrack before I even had kids. And Leo has been a fan for a while, but his interest has escalated in his latest obsession, which is listening to one specific song on the soundtrack: "One Was Johnny," while reading along with the book. Leo is the king of the repeat button.

I love it. And did I mention he also sings the song? I mean seriously, he belts it. I'd like to find him some more books that come with CDs with music. He loves them. Another favorite is this completely random freebie I got at work. He can listen to that one on repeat too, while he flips through the book's pages. So many of the CD/book combos seem to be simply just stories read aloud though, and there seems to be something about the music that Leo particularly enjoys. And he's totally learning something too. Evidence: he pointed to the word "jail" (which is in the lyrics of "One Was Johnny") and said it clear as a bell this morning. Too cool, right? I mean, shouldn't all six year olds know about jail? (ha ha)

Daycare (where Leo is full-time for the month of August until “real school” starts the day after Labor Day) drop-off has been a bit of a disaster lately. I'm told he's fine a few minutes after I leave, and I believe it. I’m not sure why drop-off has been so bad, except my hunch is Leo doesn’t like walking into a classroom brimming with four and five year olds. Too much noise, too much shrieking, too much stimulation and for some reason, someone is always crying. So can you blame him for wanting to hang out in the hallway or an empty classroom instead?

Of course, he can’t do this. And I still worry about him sneaking off when a teacher isn’t looking. So yesterday we brought the “Johnny book” as Leo calls it, with us to school. We rocked out to it on the drive. When we arrived to school, Leo brought it inside, and promptly sat down on a bench in the garden where the rest of his class was doing a water project. When I left, he was reading and singing, his little legs crossed, his small body swaying to the music in his head.

Pick-ups have been dreadful lately too for some reason. Everyone is hot and sticky and hungry. No one wants to get into their car seat, everyone wants a snack that doesn’t exist. My temper is short and I feel immediate guilt when I begin to lose it because, remember, I haven’t seen them all day, couldn’t I at least keep it together for a couple of hours?

But last night we had the “Johnny book” and Leo and Ellie climbed into their car seats like it was just the thing to do. No one whined or cried or lost their patience. And then we three sang about the cat who chased the rat and the dog who came in and sat, all the way home, up the winding hill that leads away from the school, passed the forest of deciduous trees that I swear are showing tiny hints of autumn. It was there, amidst the singing that Ellie declared “Mommy! I saw a dear!”

And I’m sure that she did.

The Wit of the Bunny

Leo’s speech therapist wrote me a nice note yesterday:

“Leo had another wonderful session today. We read The Runaway Bunny and Leo was asked to identify elements of the story and respond to some simple questions. He really enjoyed the story. We worked on expanding his responses beyond one word. He did a great job with the response “under the tree.” If you have this book at home, he is now familiar with it and I’m sure would enjoy telling you all about it.”

It’s so wonderful to get these little glimpses into Leo’s life away from us. I know most five-year -olds, speech delayed or with Down syndrome or just garden variety “perfect” (wink, wink) with 46 chromosomes probably don’t provide most parents with loads of scintillating details of the day. Take Ellie, who can talk circles around me: half the time I know she is just making things up when I ask what she did at school. You had a birthday party for an elephant? How nice for you!

So Leo’s speech therapist wondered if we have The Runaway Bunny at home.

Um,…yeah. I bought this book before Leo was even born. I’m a huge Margaret Wise Brown fan (Goodnight Moon is my #1 all-time favorite children’s book). Now that I’m a mom I think one of the best things about having kids is sharing well-loved and remembered books. I actually started buying children’s books for my kids in my twenties, well before I had children.

I vividly remember the sunny spring day when I was still pregnant with Leo---Erin and I dropped close to $200 on children’s books at a little shop on Seventh Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn. We brought them home and read them aloud to each other, giddy.

Back to The Runaway Bunny.
In the movie version of the play “Wit,” the protagonist, Vivian Bearing, who is dying of cancer is read The Runaway Bunny by her mentor, Evelyn Ashford (by the way, you can watch it here if you're in need of a good cry).

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.
So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.
For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny,
“I will become a fish in a trout stream
and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,
“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny,
“I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you...”


Maybe it was because my own mother had just died, shortly after I first saw "Wit" (it features The Runaway Bunny, quite prominently). Maybe it’s because The Runaway Bunny has always had such a special place in my soul, but the story gets me every time. Is it about the never ending, faith, and boundless, unconditional love of a mother? Is it about the idea that those who love you (and whom you love) never truly leave you, even if they are technically gone from this Earth?

Evelyn Ashford said that the book was “a poem, a little allegory of the soul: Wherever the soul hides, God will find it.”

I like all of the possibilities. And I can’t wait to read it with Leo.

Leo Time

A few months before Leo was born, Erin brought home an adorable children’s book called Ruby in Her Own Time. We liked it for the title mostly (our “first baby” was our dog, a golden retriever named Ruby.) But it had a sweet message too, about a duck that is smaller than her siblings and takes longer to do everything. The father worries if she will ever catch up, while the mother is quietly confident that she will do everything the rest of the children do, in her own time. Little did we know we were about to get the ultimate lesson in this with the birth of our first child.

I was reminded of this book the other day when I was picking Leo up from daycare. It’s always a bit of a struggle, with the gathering of the bottles and plastic containers from Ellie’s breakfast and lunch and Leo’s backpack and wet clothes from swimming, and the squirming baby who is desperate for me to hold her the second I walk in the door.

As I was doing all of this, I was telling Leo’s caregivers about his upcoming birthday party. I never tire of the “How old are you Leo?” routine (where he holds up his four stubby fingers and says “Fou!” with unabashed enthusiasm and pride). So I asked him this familiar question, yes, wanting to show off a little. But Leo was busy. He was focused on turning the light on in the room near the door where we exit for the car at the end of each day. Leo has a fascination with turning lights on and off. I guess it’s an instant gratification thing. Or cause and effect. Whatever. He just likes to do it, and every day he turns the light on in this room on our way to walking out to the car. But the light switch is a bit high and Leo always takes a bit to manage to turn it on. So as he was trying to turn the light on, I continued to ask him how old he was. Nothing.

I started getting annoyed. It’s fun to show off your kid’s “tricks.” And somehow, when it’s Leo I feel added pressure for him to perform. I don’t want people to think I’m exaggerating his abilities by saying he can do something that he really can’t.

After several attempts by me to get the right answer out, I gave up, and a good minute passed as I started for the door. The next thing I knew, Leo charged towards me, held his round little hand up and yelled, “Fou!”

It's as if he’d been working on that answer the whole time, saving it up. Of course he knew the answer. But first he had to turn on the light. He would just respond when he felt like it, when he was ready and in his own time. He’s done this before. It’s just a good reminder that he will get there--wherever "there" is. When he’s ready.