Bookstores, Propaganda, and Stuff and Fluff

40 Books Every Child Should Read (grown ups too)

I stumbled across this a few days ago and have left the page open on my laptop until I could read through the titles. (Do not ask why I did not just bookmark the link because I do not have that answer.) I think the obsessive need to read the titles on this "40 Should Read's" is that I have children. I feel that if I push them to read I too should be devouring the books. Right? I cannot justify telling them to keep their rooms clean if mine is a pig sty. "The Little Prince" was a book I'd been given years ago but never read it. I had little interest in the story but a wonderful quirky movie had been made. I loved that movie. I then had a child but I doubted a girl would want to hear a story about a little prince. Luckily she had quite the affliction towards Winnie the Pooh. Her love for a lazy fat bear prompted me to read "The Tao of Pooh." The correlation between Pooh and Taoism is so obvious it is scary. Five years after my first daughter was born I had a son. I had forgotten about "The Little Prince," until one day I was dusting and sorting the realization came to me that I could read it aloud to him. He and I could enjoy it together. The week long night time sessions were grueling for him. I often heard "Mom, can I just go to sleep?" My son is not a fan of that book and I have often wondered if I read it alone if it would fare any better in my opinion.

A book to get the kids started on the right path.

I was a little unnerved that the list did not have Laura Ingalls Wilder on it. I sat at the top of my stairs in the hallway, with a child cozy in each room, for weeks reading to my kids. Every night they pleaded, "One more chapter, please Mommy?" The begging and whining for more about Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura, good ol' bulldog Jack became so time consuming I had to put rules to the night time story. We had one chapter and that entire chapter would be consumed if: homework was completed without much complaint, dinner was eaten without catastrophe, dishes were rinsed thoroughly, teeth were brushed, and pajamas were on before 7:30 pm. We had to add a "more clause" into our ritual because the kids became so efficient with their after school/evening activities that we found ourselves ready for the next night’s chapter before lights were supposed to be out. 

 The impact the Ingalls family had on my children was quite adorable. The reading ritual was right before our summer with turkeys. My husband had bought four white fuzzy little turkeys in the spring. As usual, I was devastated to lose my feathery friends; remember, I have been a vegetarian for 21 years. As the leaves began to turn my husband took them in to be butchered and we all mourned our friends. The good memories were made when the time to prepare the holiday feasts ensued. The traditional Ingalls fashion would have been for Pa to hunt the meat for the feast; we had raised our own juicy bird. The green beans we ate were picked by the kids and I. We painstakingly picked, snapped, and canned them all. The excitement in the children's eyes as we finally opened that first jar several weeks after our hard work was a beautiful sight. The noodles were mixed, rolled, and cut as we all gathered in the kitchen. I made the pumpkin pies. I made sure to show the kids how I carefully molded the edges into pretty little peaks so that they would frame the scrumptious dessert when it was pulled from the oven. It may surprise some to learn that I attained this skill from my father many years ago; I was thrilled to show my own babies the tradition my great grandmother had taught my dad many more years before that. The potatoes were pealed and boiled. My husband and I muffled our laughter as the

kids took turns mashing the potatoes. Their little arms could hardly handle the thick mush. My youngest was so worried about the lumps that I had to assure her with "How will anyone know if they're homemade if they do not have lumps?" We baked the butternut squash from our property and slathered the cubes with butter. Our garden's brussel sprouts were cooked to perfection. The dinner rolls rose to perfection as the coffee brewed then into the oven they went. The aroma's filling the house would have made the fullest person feel the pangs of starvation. The catch phrase of that day was “this is just the way Laura and her family would have eaten” as our wood burner ached with heat from the hand split logs smoldering inside. The splendor of the day was not the food but from the pride my children had as they watched the other family members enjoy the food they had worked for months to truly prepare.

So yes, I wonder why the Little House series was not on the list.