Which one is the real mother/father? A question often asked of samesex couples and their children when they are out in public? Sometimes the question is meant to provoke embarrassment; sometimes the question the question comes from curiosity; sometimes the question comes from fear. Regardless of how it arises, it’s a question the couple, and their child(ren) inevitably face.
There are numerous collections of Aesop’s fables on the market. Indeed, the stories are in the public domain, so a collection would have to be pretty special to warrant a good review. It would have to be extra special to warrant a purchase. Well, The Fabled Life of Aesop threads the needle beautifully, and I mean beautifully; using golden thread, illustrations and prose.
Two quick bite-sized reviews featuring books that take your child on different journeys. One’s a “no.” One is a “maybe.” Will you agree?
Jamie, our preschooler, just started a new school, with new friends. At school, Jamie likes to play with cars, dolls, action figures, do somersaults, finish puzzels, dance ballet, and engage in all sorts of activities that have nothing whatsoever to do with gender.
I’ve seen the book advertised as “[a] modern take on Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree that celebrates the friendship between a curious child and her favorite tree.” If that was the aim of the book, I don’t think it quite hits its mark; at least not in this translation.
It is impossible to capture the depth of character and career that encompasses the life of Dolly Parton in a child’s board book. This book, however, does an excellent job of distilling the essence of Parton’s spirit and accomplishments into a satisfying peek for both kids and adults alike.
Eventually, Cedric grew and became a Knight in his own right. You know what comes next. He rescues a Kingdom from a dragon. And, a princess offers to marry him. So far, we have our average fairytale. Here’s where average stop. Cedric, would rather marry her brother the Prince.
Anu discovers the mantra OM and meditation through her relationship with Appuppa (maternal grandfather). She learns about her heritage (Indian-African) and the interconnectivity of the world around her.
“I am your mother, and I have the scars to prove it,” I thought. “I gave birth to you myself.” The more I thought about the grueling adoption process, the three failed adoptions we had had previously, and one of the roughest, first 18 months of life on record, I felt fairly secure I could call myself a mother. Moms, after all, endure it all. And, live on to fight another day. Here we all were. Living, happily, still fighting.