And they all look just the same.

Until a few weeks ago, this house was Oliver Jeffers free. I had heard of him and knew he was from Belfast, but had just never got round to reading one of his books. On one of our 'cup of tea' visits to No Alibis bookstore (this is where Emily drags me in off the street and plays with the tiny tea-set in the children's section), I picked up a couple of Oliver Jeffers' books. One of them even had an extra little picture drawn in it by Oliver himself. Got to love special touches like that.

I took them home, and they were a hit. It's not often the two year old AND the four year old will sit together to read a book, but these worked like magic. When we hit the library last week, it was no surprise that we came home with a couple of additions to the collection. So far we've read Stuck, The Way Back Home, The Heart in the Bottle and The Hueys in the New Jumper. Given the frequency that Huey is shoved in my hand, I'd call it as the favourite of the week. I'm even having problems trying to blog about it because every time I pick it up Emily is on my knee like a shot wanting it read to her.

So what's it about? It's a pretty black-and-white thing in the land of the Hueys.  They all think the same,do the same; they even look the same. Then one day, one of them decides he'd like to wear a jumper. The Hueys lurch from the initial shock of having someone be different, to all wanting to be different. Of course by all wanting to be different in their natty orange jumpers, they all end up being one of the crowd again. Things need to move up a notch for them all to be individuals, and they do. It's a subtle but insightful look into the world of peer pressure, herd mentality and individualism.

What works so well in this book is the way that the pictures and the story interact. There really doesn't need to be a lot of words to get the story moving along. Emily loves looking at the little guys in their new jumpers, and will chat away about who looks sad; there's really no pressure from lots of text, it works as a picture book for her. Abigail though, being that bit older, gets the 'joke' of everyone ending up still all being the same. She was curious as to why it had to be a bright orange jumper (my take was it was a bold statement) and was having a go at trying to read some of the little asides herself. I really appreciated that these little asides when the Hueys speak were handwritten. We live in a typeset world these days, where writing by hand as a grown up is falling by the wayside. It's important that we don't forget about longhand, maybe even use it now and again. Just in case.

My Read it Dad (2)

I've spent a few days thinking about what to blog about next. You see, after I posted last week, my dad phoned to tell me he has pancreatic cancer and has about a year left with us. I'm still trying to digest this news, but hoping we can make the best of the time we have left with him.
Here's to the man who took me out on endless bike rides, and who told me that they sent hairdressers to the moon. Love you dad.

My Read It Dad

Readitdaddy has laid down a challenge to parents everywhere to make 2013 the year that we all read to our children more, because as mums and dads we are just not doing it enough. So with that in mind, I wanted to pay tribute to my own dad, and all the stories that he read to me when I was a wee tiny nipper.

Amongst all the ladybird books and Mr Men, when I was five he decided to read me the whole Chronicles of Narnia, out loud. Night after night he was there, finishing each night with his characteristic slamming of the book closed and wobbling his false tooth at me before lights out. As my choice of them all, I'm picking The Magician's Nephew as the one which really got me hooked on books. I was thrilled by the adventures of Digory and Polly as they were zapped through worlds by Uncle Andrew's magic rings, inadvertently taking the White Witch with them into Narnia.  I'm not sure why this book captivated me more than all the others in the Chronicles of Narnia. Perhaps because it was that last to be written and that made it more accomplished, but more likely because it was the first book my dad took time out from his full time job and part time OU Degree to read to me.

Sadly, I don't remember being read much to after this, but I think that's because I was reading independently by then. There was a LOT of Enid Blyton, followed by Laura Ingalls Wilder,  When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit and the Diary of Anne Frank. Maple syrup has a special place in my memory, as does Darell from Mallory Towers, a scruffy rabbit, bilingualism  and coming of age in a secret annexe with a boy named Peter. That's all down to my dad, who took time out to read to me. Thanks dad. x