At two-and-a-half, my daughter is playful, imperious, addicted to narrative, overly sensitive, generous, and occasionally tempted by the siren songs of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. In all these ways, she reminds me of me.
Still, she is her own person, driven by a profound love for the film "Sing" (a love I do not share with her). Susie also feels affection for Quentin Blake's "Three Little Monkeys"--a sense of enthusiasm that I cannot explain or endorse. And her interest in the world is such that she often resists naptime; the wish to have more experiences, at the expense of rest, is a wish that seems entirely foreign to me.
We read a fair amount, and here are some books we like, if you're on the hunt:
*"Tom," by Tomie dePaola. This doesn't seem as famous as "Nana Upstairs"--but I think it is the equal to that book, in terms of detail, pacing, and mastery of a shifting tone. I'm a fan.
*"Two Dogs," by Ian Falconer. A wry, gay masterpiece.
*"Three Billy Goats Gruff," by Mac Barnett. I can't tell you how much I prefer this version to Jerry Pinkney's watery, soupy version. Barnett is tart and amusingly coy. The voice he invents for this book is just as memorable as the character of the (unpredictable) troll: Five stars.
Happy reading.
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