Wombats!

Dear Aunt Debbie,

It was so lovely to have you visit.  I've put up a picture in the sidebar of you reading Dodsworth in London to Eleanor -- the seriousness of her face, and the smile on yours, make me very happy.

And you came bearing gifts!

In the two days since you were here, we've become very interested in wombats: furry, battering-ram headed bearlike Australian creatures.  This newfound interest is, of course, on account of the two wombat books you left us with, both by Jackie French, with wildly appealing illustrations by Bruce Whatley.

They are an interesting pair of books: a picture book, and a short non-fiction chapter book about the history and habits of wombats, clearly aimed at older readers.

First, the picture book:

Diary of a Wombat is exactly that:

Monday

Morning: Slept.

Afternoon: Slept.

Evening: Ate grass.

     Scratched.

 Night: Ate grass.

     Slept.

Tuesday

Morning: Slept.

Afternoon: Slept.

Evening: Ate grass.

Night: Ate grass.  Decided grass is boring.

Scratched.  Hard to reach the itchy bits.

Slept.

On Wednesday, new neighbors (a family of people) move in, and the wombat begins to interact with them, fighting a major battle with their doormat ("flat, hairy creature invading my territory"), demanding carrots, digging holes in the garden, banging on a metal garbage can to demand still more carrots.  From the combination of French's deadpan text and Whatley's sleepy-eyed wombat illustrations, you get the sense that wombats are strong, stubborn, and single-minded, as well as being extremely cute when rolling around on their backs.  The wombat trains her neighbor humans (oh yes, on the gender-of-animals front, it's made clear on one page that the wombat is female) to take care of her when needed, and seems quite happy with her situation.  It's enormously appealing.

How to Scratch a Wombat is a longer and far more in-depth read.  In it, French provides some of her personal history with wombats -- she's lived with them invading her garden, and sometimes her house, for more than 30 years.  French's stories of individual wombats (all named, all described like old friends) are funny and full of personality.  She interweaves her anecdotes with straightforward wombat facts: what they eat (mostly grass), how their anatomy functions (they are marsupials, with pouches, and have extremely strong skulls, "bums," and clawed digging paws), their place in Australian history (hunted down as pest by white settlers), and more.  Whatley combines his cartoon-like illustrations here with far more realistic ones in shaded pencil, so that you get a good sense of how wombats really look and act.

Eleanor has not historically been drawn to non-fiction books, but she's sustained an interest in this one, and we're both enjoying the combination of fact and personal narrative.  I appreciate particularly the way French stresses the dangers of co-habiting with wild animals: yes, wombats can be adorable, but she describes in detail the time a wombat tore a gash in her wrist when he thought they were playing a game.  Despite the anthropomorphizing in Diary of a Wombat, French keeps the wildness of the wombats front and center.

I look forward to hearing more about the BEA conference -- I hope this morning's panel was excellent!

Love, Annie

Do tadpoles lead to the birds and the bees?

Dear Aunt Debbie,

I love the image of your new store, all those books waiting to be discovered by kids and parents.  Sounds like a busy, fun time.

This week, Eleanor picked up a book at the library called Growing Frogs, by Vivian French.  It's part of a series put out by Candlewick Press (they have such good taste) called "Read, Listen, & Wonder": the narrative is meant to teach a bunch of interesting facts, and the book comes with a CD containing both a read-aloud version and a bunch of extra facts, in this case about frogs.

Perhaps it's my English-teacher-fiction-loving heart, but I didn't expect to like this book as much as I do.  It's quite charming: the story of a girl who lives near a pond and her mom, who teaches her how to take frog spawn out of the pond, bring it home, and grow tadpoles in a fish tank.  (There are many clear instructions on how to do this without hurting the pond or the tadpoles.)  When the frogs get big enough, the girl and her mom return them to the pond.  There are clear, readable explanations of all the stages of tadpole-to-frog development, including a few bits in smaller font that add to the narrative without being exactly part of the story: "Tadpoles have gills on the outside of their bodies at first.  Then they grow gills inside their bodies, and the outside ones disappear."  It's enough to make you want to go out and get some frog spawn -- if, you know, you didn't live in the middle of a city.

One of the extra-informational bits in this book explains the process of fertilization: "Male frogs croak to attract female frogs for mating.  Mating occurs when the male frog covers the female's eggs with his sperm.  A tadpole will only grow if an egg joins with a sperm -- this joining is called fertilization."  Reading this aloud to Eleanor last night, I wondered if it was going to spark questions about how babies are made -- I was very aware that it was the first time I'd introduced her to the word "sperm."  She hasn't picked up on it yet, and probably won't in this context, but it gave me a moment of Huh, I wonder when and how the sex conversation is going to happen.

I'd just finished reading a very funny article by Jill Lepore in the Oct. 18 New Yorker magazine on the subject: a round-up of several new How to Explain Sex to Kids books.  As far as I remember, we never had any of them in the house growing up.  My dad enlightened me on the facts of life when my mom got pregnant with Michael -- I was 3 1/2, about Eleanor's age, and can actively remember being embarrassed by the conversation.  But I was never misinformed.  Still, I remember friends talking about having childhood sex-ed books (including one pop-up book, which just seems like a bad idea).  What's your take on this genre, animal husbandry or human sexuality-wise?

Love, Annie