A big project at work is eating away into my blogging time this week. The nerve. Before I had Rowan, I was never one of those people that dreamt about having kids all their lives. What that means is I have become a wingman....or wingwoman. Not a whole lot of preparation time. Everything from the nursery, to the clothes, to the daycare....all of it was based on flying by the seat of my pants. Pants with really cute high heels. Despite this, things have turned out rather well. What can I say, I work best under pressure. And all the preparation in the world wouldn't have helped my sorry ass out for motherhood. So, when it came time to choose books for the little fart to read, I had absolutely no idea what to choose. I don't have many friends who have kids, so I received no recommendations. No research was done on parenting.com. I just headed to the children's section of the local Barnes and Noble and started to pick up books.
This is my first kick at the can at parenting but what I have found out in a fairly short period of time, is that you cannot predict what kids will like. I mean, Rowan refuses white chocolate raspberry cake. What's up with them apples? So, I bought books that I enjoyed looking at and reading. Selfish, I know. But if I am going to have to look and read these books as much as I have been watching Sesame Street, I better REALLY really like the damn things. 1,2,3...4,5,6...7,8,9..10,11,12 ladybugs came to the ladybugs' picnic...Sesame Street has become Chinese water torture for me.
I have picked up all of Oliver Jeffers books. I love the illustrations. I love the story. I love that sad little penguin. Rowan kisses the penguin every time we read them. Looking for this image, I came across pictures of the author himself. Not a bad looking fella that Oliver is...I love his books so much more now!
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