Flying monkeys don’t live in a zoo

I watched Inkheart with Charlie this past weekend. (This is a story about “silver tongues” who can bring characters to life when they read books aloud.)

Of course, when I told Charlie that the characters from books were coming to life, he wanted to know what a character was, and we spent a long time thinking about characters. (The Mama and The Daddy are characters in the Three Little Pigs, you know.)

At one point in the movie, the hero walks through a dungeon filled with imaginary creatures: a unicorn, a minotaur, flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz and a ticking alligator from Peter Pan.

Are they in the zoo? Charlie wanted to know. I told him they were in a dungeon. He didn’t ask what a dungeon was—maybe he thought it was a new kind of zoo.

I tried to explain again that the creatures were from stories, characters that came to life and were captured in the dungeon.

He thought about this. “From stories?” he asked. “Stories about a zoo?”

After much, much discussion, he finally accepted that those particular kinds of animals–the imaginary kind–don’t live in zoos.

Several times that night and into the next day, he would get my attention at random moments and say, “Mama, flying monkeys don’t live in a zoo. And unicorns don’t either.”

I think Wizard of Oz and Peter Pan have to be next on the book and movie list.

It’s NOT Christmas season, but…

I have been thinking about lists of who’s been naughty, who’s been nice, and what kind of toys might be fun to play with since I seem to be drafted into the playroom on a regular basis.

We just got a kid catalog in the mail, and Charlie and I oohed and aahed over the blow-up backyard ball pit, the $200 firehouse playset, and the super cool castle tent with tunnel. So, I added a few of the (much smaller) items onto Charlie’s “wish” list. These are just ideas about what he might be interested in. If you’re looking to get more creative or a lot cheaper, Charlie loves a lot of other things too: pictures of people he knows, especially if he’s in the pictures; books of all kinds, used or new, especially those about animals and those with tabs, levers and pullys but not those with lights, buttons and sounds—go figure; music of all kinds, especially instruments he can play with; clothes that are warm and cute, he’s a size 4T; and anything personalized that reminds him of the giver. (He’s been recounting how he made a puppet with me at the sheep play, and how Renee and he made a paper fan in class—six months ago. Last week we made a bird feeder out of a milk carton and every day since he looks out the window and says, “Mama, we made that. Together.”)

And just for my mom, I’m also writing a list of ideas for me and Jesse. Right now, it’s sparse. She’ll have to wait until after Thanksgiving to find out more. Until then…Happy Halloween!

Librarians with attitude

I’ve written before about our local library: the storytime so popular they had to call in a security guard and the often unhelpful staff.

I can’t say that I’ve gotten used to the poor service at our branch in the year that we’ve been here. I’m still spoiled by the librarians of my childhood who were always tolerant, helpful, and who actually wanted us to check out books.

But today’s librarian’s witty comment was too good to leave unblogged.

Charlie and I went to storytime. We survived. And then we were excited about books and ended up with a crazy stack of nearly a dozen to check out. As we were teetering to the counter and waiting our turn, we saw a librarian stacking some thrillers and other fiction on a shelf. A couple of the covers looked interesting, so I said, “Excuse me, are those ready to be checked out or are they on hold for someone?”

The librarian looked up at me and with no hesitation whatsoever replied, “These are adult books.”

“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I was thinking of them for me.”

Ah, Brooklyn librarians. Your charm astounds me.

English lit 101

Lately, after our long days, I’ve been talking to Charlie about what happened to us during our adventures. “Remember when we went to music class and played the drums?” Or, “What did you do at FedKids today? Renee said you helped to make a cardboard bus. Did you paint it yellow?”

Sometimes I know the answers, sometimes I don’t. But he’s been having fun remembering, putting a narrative structure to the course of his day, and thinking about the climax. (“Yes, that was my favorite thing, too!”)

But last night, as we were reading bedtime stories, he moved beyond basic storytelling.

We read Little Gorilla by Ruth Bornstein and then we read Dear Zoo by Rod Campbell. Both books involve jungle animals because stories about jungle animals tend to hold CW’s attention better than other kinds of stories. As I was reading Dear Zoo aloud and he was looking at pictures in Little Gorilla, he pointed from the elephant in one to the elephant in the other.

“Ele-un,” he said. Here, he pointed, and here. “Ele-un.”

“Yes, Charlie,” I said, as we examined both lions, both snakes and both giraffes. “We’ve finally moved into comparative literature!”