Susannah Felts

Maybe you’ve encountered the whole “Mama, I want a puppy/pony/meerkat!” thing at your house. So far, we’ve had no such requests around here, maybe because we already have two cats, one of whom is personality-challenged, and the grandparents have a sweet dog that Thalia gets to see every Friday. I don’t doubt the request will surface eventually. And if it’s for a bunny, I’m going to have trouble saying no…

If you’ve got a kiddo who’s pining for an animal companion (or even if you don’t), now’s a good time to check out A Pet for Petunia, by Paul Schmid (Harper, 2011). Schmid—the illustrator behind Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s delightful The Wonder Book (which is on my long bucket list of books to blog about)—was kind enough to send me a folded-and-gathered copy of Petunia. His drawings are sweetly simple, mostly black-and-white with lavender accents, such as the stripes on Petunia’s dress.

Fittingly, “Stripes” is also the name Petunia’s got all picked out for the real-life skunk she is determined to adopt. And wheedle away she does, trying out all the familiar lines.

Kids and parents alike will revel in Petunia’s super-excitable voice, and any book that repeats the word STINK as many times as this one does—in gigantic letters, even—has to be hit with little ones, right? (Pet requests may not be the conversation topic du jour in my home, but stinks? Oh, we are infinitely acquainted with that subject.)

Petunia, alas, learns the hard way that maybe good old stuffed Stripes is the only skunk for her. And we’re back to domestic, stuffed-animal bliss. That is, until she spies a porcupine…

After a few delightfully teasing 65+ degree days, we’re all pretty Spring Feverish around here, ready to sow lettuce seeds, hit the bar patios during happy hour, and watch the dogwoods bloom.

And this year, I’ve got my first-ever attempt at bulbs on which to track daily progress as the season changes. If all continues to go according to plan, tulips and crocuses will soon beautify my front walk. Watching them press their little nubby green heads out of the soil is every bit as gratifying as I dreamed it would be back in November, when I plopped the bulbs in the ground, covered them up, and brushed off my hands, thinking, Yeah, we’ll see. With my track record, they’ll rot down there, or some critter will dig them up and have a fine meal.

But here they are, doing their thing, right on schedule!

And right on schedule, a new change-of-seasons book has joined our library: Snow Rabbit, Spring Rabbit, by Il Sung Na (Knopf, 2011).

Know someone having a baby this spring? Consider this one as a gift, because it’s a perfect read for an itty-bitty, right up to a big-little-kid (a toddler like mine). There’s scant text: One line per page, or less. (I don’t know about you, but here’s a confession: I feel pretty thankful, often, for a light-on-text title when we’re reading 4+ books at bedtime.) But the real treat is the gorgeous artwork, a “combination of painted oils, ink drawings and digital manipulation,” according to the New York Times review. Na’s illustrations have a delicately layered look–intricate patterns and textures are everywhere, elevating images of wildlife to something fantastical. (A younger me might have called it “trippy.”) Spiral and floral designs atop pale, spongy pastels make up a bear’s hide; turtles’ shells bear an array of bright geometric patterns.

I am sucker for nature-themed books, and bunnies. Still, if the book weren’t so danged pretty I might pass it by, as it doesn’t do that much in the way of storytelling or wordplay or character development or laughs. That’s not to say it lacks a nice message. The ways in which animals deal with winter: that’s the focus. The snow rabbit appears on each page, witness to the hibernation of the bear and her cubs, the migration of the geese, the stockpiling of nuts by the squirrels, and so on. The high point is when the bunny hitches a ride on a swimming turtle’s back. “A rabbit riding on a turtle’s BACK in the OCEAN!?” I exclaim to Thalia. “Is that silly?” Oh yes, she says. It is very silly.

The structure and visual style of Snow Rabbit, Spring Rabbit riffs off Na’s previous book, A Book of Sleep, which just came out in board-book edition and is an equally simple nature-based tale, equally a feast for the eyes. In that book, an owl is the star character, a quiet observer on each page as we see all the animals that sleep at night.

There’s something about Na’s style that I find accessible and inspiring—and the NYT is in agreement, saying that “the visuals may yet inspire an artistically minded kindergartner.” Or her mother, I might add. In fact, I was drawn (har har) during one afternoon art session with Thalia to create my own version of Na’s owl.

But back to our Snow/Spring Rabbit. He observes the animals in their winter habits, and when spring rolls around? The earth blooms, and the white bunny…turns brown. OK, so maybe you’ll want to explain to your child that bunnies don’t really change color with the seasons. Or maybe I’m not getting the joke, which is that the rabbit actually had snow all over him until the big thaw?

Then again, bunnies don’t exactly ride turtles, do they. Eh, just roll with it.

The other day I was nibbling yummy artisan marshmallows and sipping a latte with local honey* with a friend, when she hipped me—quite appropriately, considering our gustatory pleasures of the moment—to her seven-year-old daughter’s favorite book of late: Cooking with Henry and Elliebelly, by Carolyn Parkhurst and Dan Yaccarino (Feiwel and Friends, 2010).

Whether you think artisan marshmallows sound delicious or deliciously pretentious (a little bit of both, I’d say), there’s no question that we live in a food-obsessed culture–and our kids live in it, too. So: A picture book in which a brother and his younger sister stage their own cooking show?

Oh, yes. I’ll have a little taste of that.

Henry and Elliebelly have clearly watched the Food Network a time or two. And Parkhurst knows their parents have, too—which is why this is such a funny read for adults. Right away, we learn that today on “Cooking with Henry and Elliebelly,” the rookie chefs are making “raspberry-marshmallow-peanut butter waffles with barbecued banana bacon.”

Oh, more please! (And seriously, if you told me that this was the weekend special at The Bongo Room, I’d probably believe you.)

The book is told entirely in dialogue between Henry (5-ish?) and his red-haired lil’ sis Eleanor (2-ish), whom he calls Elliebelly, with off-stage shouts from mom when the siblings get to bickering. Which, naturally, they do. Elliebelly wants to spice up the batter with some pizza and her dolly, Baby Anne. Henry, ever the serious cook, is not having any of it.

Notice the ingredients include: “imported flour from Kansas…and twelve duck eggs.” Which are whisked together with “a whisk made of the finest metal possible.” I suspect Williams Sonoma will be carrying this book, packaged together with mommy-and-me aprons and a box of organic waffle mix, if they aren’t already. (I haven’t needed a new $20 wooden spoon lately, so I wouldn’t know.)

It gets even better when there’s a commercial break:

Look at that gaping maw!

This book is manages to be a delightful satire of contemporary/foodie culture while never for a second losing its focus on kid-reality and kid dynamics. Plus, the retro illustrations are bold and bright (I would love to see a cooking show styled like this!). I give it four forks. Now go BUY SOME PUDDING! Or check out this far more thorough review of Cooking with Henry and Elliebelly.

*This makes my life sound far more luxe than it is.

It’s supposed to snow again in Nashville tomorrow. We’ve gotten an unusual amount of the stuff this year, and I’m in the extreme minority that is not completely over it yet. However, I am over these wimpy, piddly 1-2″ snows, as the last few have been, and as tomorrow’s is slated to be as well. Last week’s Chicago blizzard made me miss the city terribly (although that’s really a chronic condition; I guess you could say the blizzard triggered an, um…outbreak?), and it had Todd and I waxing nostalgic about the blizzard of ’99, when we’d both lived in Chicago for only about four months (separately, of course; we wouldn’t meet for a few years yet). That blizzard beat last week’s, by the way. Facebook just wasn’t around to pump up the hysterics.

Anyway, I know most everyone is sicktadeath of snow, but I suspect we’ll all get more of it before the cherry blossoms open…

So there’s still plenty of time to read snowy books. Good thing, because I came across an interesting nonfiction one yesterday on Ohdeedoh–one that might just remedy your snow fatigue:

The Story of Snow: The Science of Winter’s Wonder, by photographer Mark Cassino and Jon Nelson, Ph.D. (Chronicle Books, 2009) pairs really lovely illustrations and photos of snow crystals with clear explanations of just what the stuff is, and how it forms. Better yet, for the budding naturalist or weatherhound, there are instructions for catching and observing snow crystals, as you can see in the nifty slide show below.

The Story of Snow

I was sufficiently charmed. (Thx, Ohdeedoh!) Now for the bad news—besides that piddly snow forecast for tomorrow: The usually-awesome Nashville Public Library has let me down. They don’t have this one. Maybe because it, like, isn’t supposed to snow a whole bunch in Nashville?

So, the sad truth: Dear Reader, I am blogging about a book I have not even seen in person.

Before you tsk me, please know that I almost ordered it last night (I’ve got this monthlong trial of Amazon Prime to take advantage of, see; verrry dangerous), but I held off, thinking of budgets and things I really need for the toddler, like new jeans and Valentine nail polish (more on this later; don’t hate until you let me explain). Plus, the book seems just a tad advanced for my kiddo right now, but those of you with school-aged kids—or those of you who just really dig snow—should take note. (Pairs well with a bowl of snow cream and The Snowy Day.)

There’s also a corresponding Story of Snow blog, where you can see lots of gorgeous photographs of individual snow crystals and delight your young science geek (or your inner science geek).

Have you heard my child? You have, no doubt, if you’ve been within 10 feet of her for more than a minute. She is, as we say, a very verbal kid, chattering away to herself, or to me, or to one of her stuffed animal friends, or to anyone in earshot, at pretty much every waking moment. I’m exaggerating very little, here. If it’s not questions or rambling commentary on every iota of stimuli, it’s song medleys: “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” and “Frosty the Snowman” have gotten much, much exposure over the past months, but she’s also likely to bust out with a random lyric from some Arcarde Fire or Phoenix or Avett Brothers song. Or the Beatles. If you happen to live in East Nashville and heard a kid shouting BABY YOU’RE A RICH MAN! BABY YOU’RE A RICH MAN! BABY YOU’RE A RICH MAN, TOO! from the back of a bicycle recently, I think it’s safe to say you crossed paths with my daughter.

I’m not trying to discourage the flow of speech and song—90% of the time I find it quite endearing (even as I’m wondering what weary stranger in our presence is finding it anything but)—but I did include The Quiet Book (Houghton Mifflin, 2010), by Deborah Underwood and Renata Liwska, in Thalia’s Christmas book haul.

The premise is both simple and challenging (for a kid): There are many different kinds of quiet. Right-before-you-yell-surprise! quiet. First-one-awake quiet. (One of the many kinds of quiet my kid has yet to master.) Making-a-wish quiet.

See the bear with the rosy cheeks? Thalia immediately pointed to him and said something about him feeling bad. Indeed. “Others telling secrets quiet” = one of the worst kinds. I almost flinch at exposing her to the concept so early on, but… As for “Coloring in the lines quiet,” yeah, that’s always my vision of sitting down with some paper and markers. Instead it’s more like, “Mama! Mama! Draw a silly face, Mama! MAMA! Draw me, Mama!”

The book covers many different kinds of quiet, and it does so ever charmingly; Renata Liwska’s adorable illustrations are so gentle and fuzzy (and yes, quiet in a very real sense) that you almost expect this book to be velvety soft to the touch. I think their uber-cuteness draws Thalia to the book, but she hasn’t been selecting it for story time much yet. As much as I love it myself, I’m not surprised, since it doesn’t have the rhymey text or goofy storyline that goes over so smashingly with the toddler set. The Quiet Book definitely has a “more for the parents than the kids” quality, but I think it can be a big hit, and a subtly instructive one, with slightly older children. Or much older children! As in, it’s really a great creative writing exercise, if you think of it. Name the different kinds of loud. The different kinds of joyful. The different kinds of fear.

I have to wonder, though: Where is the “doing something naughty and creating a giant mess in the process” quiet? Because that one is the only one my kid has duly mastered.

In honor of the pub date for Little White Rabbit, the Greenwillow blog has Kevin Henkes talking about the creation of the new book, and its similarities to his very first book. Check it out.

The above is his favorite illustration in the book. Of it, he says: “Although he is wondering ‘what it would be like not to be able to move,” I’ve drawn little white rabbit soaring above the rock, surrounded by sky, the horizon line low, his shape echoed by the clouds. My goal was to create a nice play between words and image. The image also presages the upcoming image of him fluttering through the air.”

Swoon.

There are many ABC books out there. (One could devote an entire blog to them.) You need this one:

I wrote about the book, which has a sad but very sweet story behind it, for Chapter 16 not too long ago. That interview (with the late author’s husband) appears in full below, or hey, you can click over to Chapter 16 to read it there (I know those folks would love it if you did!).

Melissa Duke Mooney loved music—and when she began shopping for an ABC book for her then 4-year-old daughter, Nola, but found nothing that inspired her, she hit on an idea: what if there were an ABC book based on rock ‘n’ roll artists, with famous acts representing each of the twenty-six letters? Being the woman she was—a do-er, a crafter, an instigator of many fun projects—Mooney decided that, since the book didn’t exist, she’d have to create it herself.

The work that resulted, The ABCs of Rock, is an essential addition to the hip kid’s library, as splashy and loud and irrepressible as the artists to whom it pays homage—David Bowie, Nirvana, Iggy Pop, and the Velvet Underground, to name a few. (Parents who grew up on rock ‘n’ roll may dig it even more than their offspring.) The book itself brings to mind an LP record (its trim size is a slightly smaller square), and the pages explode with colorful, gritty screenprints that capture the scruffy vigor of rock ‘n’ roll, drawing on the iconography of the acts represented (Led Zeppelin’s zeppelin, Nirvana’s cheerleaders, Elvis Costello’s signature black frames). The artwork, by Print Mafia (Connie Collingsworth and Jim Madison) of Bowling Green, Kentucky, hews to the photocopier aesthetic of zines and rock-show fliers: the black and white speckles of enlargements, the old-school cut-and-paste collages, the beauty and electricity in imperfection.

Tragically, Melissa Mooney never got to see her vision become reality. She died of meningitis in 2009, at age forty-one. Her husband, Neil Mooney, later decided to see her project to fruition with the help of some close friends. He knew she would have wanted it that way. Neil Mooney graciously answered a few questions about Melissa, and the making of The ABCs of Rock, via email.

Chapter 16: What did music/rock ‘n’ roll mean to Melissa?

Mooney: She was a huge music fan. She listened to music constantly, and it was a big part of her/our lifestyle. We always went to see lots of bands. She was famous for throwing costume parties. Two of the best were a “Come as a Rockstar” karaoke party, and, a few weeks before she died, she had a great party, at Foo Bar, where people came dressed as their favorite record cover. It was one of the best parties I’ve ever been to. The most fun was watching people who just happened to come to the bar that night walk in and see a room full of living record covers. There were some priceless expressions.

Chapter 16: What was the process of choosing the bands for the book like? There must have been some tough decisions.

Mooney: There was lots and lots of brainstorming, as well as combing through the thousands of CDs we have. Luckily, I keep them in alphabetical order. We sat around for weeks, bouncing ideas around. It was very hard to choose which to use for some letters. Others, like W and Z, didn’t have a lot of possibilities. Thanks goodness The White Stripes said yes, or we might have had to use Winger or Wham! Sometimes, it came down to who would agree to be in it. Led Zeppelin was nearly replaced with Lynyrd Skynyrd, but they finally agreed at the eleventh hour. Lots of the choices were some of Melissa’s favorites, like the Go-Go’s, Elvis Costello, and Queen.

Chapter 16: How did she choose Print Mafia to do the illustrations?

Mooney: She’d tried a few other people, but could not get someone with the right feel. Her friend Leigh Ann Johnson mentioned that she knew Connie and Jim from Print Mafia. Leigh Ann showed Melissa some of their work, then made the introductions. Things clicked immediately. It was obvious right away that Print Mafia was the perfect choice for the book.

Chapter 16: Did she take on the task of acquiring permissions from all the artists mentioned in the book? What was that process like?

Mooney: Melissa did begin getting the permissions. It was very slow going. Understandably, most bands’ management companies are geared toward talking to people who are going to make their clients large amounts of money. The book was, by comparison, small potatoes. Therefore, it took a lot of work and persistence to get the time and attention of managers, etc. At the time she died, Melissa only had a handful of agreements.

Chapter 16: What other sorts of projects was she involved with?

Mooney: She had a wide range of creative interests. She sang in a few bands, including one with me called Junebug. She was in a burlesque troupe in L.A. for a while, called The Velvet Hammer. She was always doing some sort of craft project as well, like making sock monsters or doing needlepoint on baby bibs. We talked a lot about following up The ABCs of Rock with other music-related ABC books, such as Country, Jazz, etc.

Chapter 16: There’s a quote from Iggy Pop on the cover: “Have a ball with these ABCs of Rock.” Is there a story behind that?

Mooney: I’m afraid I don’t have the story on the Iggy quote. I think the folks at Tricycle Press may have gotten that done. I was thrilled to see it, though. I am a huge Iggy fan.

Chapter 16: Do your kids listen to the bands in the book? Do they have any favorites?

Mooney: Nola and Tallulah love music. I suppose they had to, since they grew up in a house where it is played constantly. We started them on lots of Dan Zanes and Laurie Birkner when they were little, but played them other stuff like Lucinda Williams, Bob Marley, The Ramones, The White Stripes. They are both huge Raconteurs fans. I used to sit with Nola when she was three and watch Rolling Stones and New York Dolls videos. Super fun. We used to have family dance parties where we’d dress up and dance in the den to their latest faves. Shaggy’s “Oh Carolina” was in heavy rotation for a while, and is still guaranteed to get them on their feet. We’ve been talking about a trip to Graceland lately. I’m a huge Elvis fan and I’m bringing them up to love and respect His Highness. Unfortunately, they’ve discovered Top Forty recently, so they also get some radio time with Rhianna and Katie Perry. At the Mooney house, we mix the sacred and profane, if you will. I have a band called the Red Caps, and they come to see me whenever we play a kid-friendly venue.

Chapter 16: Any they don’t like?

Mooney: They are not too big on metal. It made for a rough few days right after [Ronnie James] Dio died last summer. They heard a lot more “Holy Diver” than they were in the mood for.

Chapter 16: After Melissa passed away, who first took up the idea of continuing to work on the book?

Mooney: I did. It felt very important to me that her dream should come true. I had no idea who her contacts at Tricycle Press were, so I just called up and asked to speak to the person in charge of the project. They were already aware of her death but were excited to hear that I wanted to go forward with it.

Chapter 16: And how far along was it at that point?

Mooney: The list of bands she wanted was complete, but she’d only gotten about five permissions. A good bit of the artwork was done, but there was a lot of back and forth between Tricycle and Print Mafia as images were submitted to Tricycle. Our friend Anissa Mason, a music publicist, did a lot to complete the band approvals, as did Skip Rudsenske, the lawyer who’d drawn up the approvals contract the bands signed. He went above and beyond his original role and was wonderful at nailing down the bands.

Chapter 16: When you look at the book, what do you think about?

Mooney: My favorite thing about the book is that it is tangible evidence of Melissa’s spirit: her love of music, her creativity, and her desire to make the world a more fun place. If a person that didn’t know her were to ask me “What was she like?” I would hand them The ABCs of Rock and they would immediately get a strong sense of her personality. When I look at it, I think of her, and of the good times we had with music. I should mention that the girls’ favorite song right now is “The Kids Are Alright.” And you know what? They both are.

I can’t believe I have not yet blogged about Kevin Henkes’ books. A Good Day was one of the first books I bought for Thalia, and I’ve been smitten by almost everything “Henkian” that I could find since then: Old Bear, Kitten’s First Full Moon, My Garden, the “Mouse” books… These books are without a doubt one of the reasons I wanted to do this blog. And Greenwillow, Henkes’ publisher, consistently publishes books (often nature-themed, it seems) that woo me.

Henkes has a new book, Little White Rabbit, out January 25 (yay!), and it’s very much in the style of his most recent books (see the titles listed above), which makes me happy. And makes sense, since he explains in this video that he’s been interested lately in books for younger readers: “simple, succinct stories with pictures.” He also shares a bit about his process, and I find it interesting that words — the story — come before pictures, and the rhythm of the language is paramount.

The book looks predictably adorable—but also check out that light-filled studio, those bookshelves!

More, I swear, on Henkes soon.

I very much want to know what possessed Andrew Kolb to make this. I’m so very glad he did, and I hope it might be the start of a series. Not least because Thalia happens to be a Gaga fan. Most recently she’s been mastering the “Ollie-olli-andro” of “Alejandro.” (That would be an interesting one to give the vintage-picture-book treatment to, don’t you think?) For reasons unknown to me, she refers to “Bad Romance” as “Cherry Apple [something or other].” There must be some line in the song that sounds like that, but I’ve yet to figure it out.

I think Lady Gaga will adore this.
See the whole “book” here.

H/t to Colossal/Christopher Jobson, via his lovely partner, the writer Megan Stielstra.

As excited as I am to tell you about the books we adored last year, I’m even more excited to be done with it and move on to our new squeezes. So here we go!

I’m limiting myself to 10, in no hierarchical order, plus a handful of Honorable Mentions. In making this list, I included both books that I fell in love with, and books that Thalia asked for time and time again. Sometimes these were one and the same, but you know, kids have their own set of criteria. Ultimately, if a book made it on here, we both got a healthy kick out of it. Oh, and they weren’t all published in 2010. The ones that were are asterisked.

Bunny Days, by Tao Nyeu

Oh, how smitten I have been with this book. Everything about it is a delight: the illustrations are so cute they make my teeth hurt (but hurt so good!), the story is hilariously whimsical, and Thalia saying the words “Muddy Bunnies” was truly a highlight of Toddler, Year 2. (OK, it started when she was not quite 2, but who’s counting?)

The bunnies get splooshed by mud, get sucked up by a vacuum, get their tails snipped off with pruning shears. Mr. and Mrs. Goat are the unsuspecting perpetrators. Mr. Bear makes everything all right again. Everyone is happy.

*Henry in Love, by Peter McCarty

Young love between a kitty and a bunny! It’s almost like the first story I ever wrote at age 6. Henry is besotted by Chloe, in that aching elementary school way, and of course that results in some good old-fashioned playground chasing:

The text is ultra-simple, so it’s one of the books that a toddler will soon be chanting with as you turn the pages. But an older reader is going to dig the romantic intrigue.

Skippyjon Jones, by Judith Schachner

Ridiculously fun to read out loud, this one. The “reveal” at the end is fantastic.

This is the kind of book that will liven you up when you think you’re way too tired to read any books tonight. It’s that fun.

*Seasons, by Blexbolex

Not many illustrated children’s books also fit neatly in the category of coffee table books. This one does. It’s exquisite, and I’ve never seen anything remotely like it.

Each season is represented a few times, and the words on the page spreads are sometimes (often) clearly associated. Sometimes, it’s more of a clever stretch. Always, it’s gorgeous.

Apparently Blexbolex’s style here is reminiscent of 60′s-era children’s book illustration. I wish I could confirm that myself, but the knowledge, she is limited. I’m quite enchanted by this book, so I hope to post more fully about it later. Thalia seemed more interested in it than I thought she would be, but I think she’ll dig it more and more as time goes on. It’s a fixture in our living room.

And If the Moon Could Talk, by Kate Banks and Georg Hallensleben

Pure poetry. The text to this lovely, gentle book has become a sort of bedtime mantra for us. I feel spellbound, almost, myself, reciting it to Thalia, who’s more or less got the whole thing memorized.

“Moon Could Talk,” as she calls it, is melodic, it’s rich in imagery, it’s colorful, it’s just the right dreamy tone for that final night-night send-off. Ahhh.

*Tell the Truth, B.B. Wolf!, by Judy Sierra and J. Otto Seibold

“Revised” children’s stories are definitely a thing these days (that probably started way back with the Stinky Cheese Man, I’m thinking), and this is an example of the subgenre at its best. It’s sort of a mash-up of famous tales, and a clever take on the theme of owning up to your bad deeds. J. Otto Seibold’s illustrations jump off the page as usual.

It’s another read-aloud winner. I read the B.B. Wolf’s song in a sort of swingin’ Frank Sinatra way. I love that, in an act of recompense, he builds the piggies not separate houses, but a sort of three-flat condo. With their own private mud wallow.

*Hugo and the Really, Really, Really Long String, by Bob Boyle
I’m not in love with the look of this one, but the story grew on me, and it’s fun to read (again, there’s some light singing involved–always a hit with the kiddos), and Thalia has asked for it many a time. Hugo goes chasing this “mysterious red string” alllll over town, making friends along the way. In the end, the string leads back to…his own house. It’s a string from his old red underwear; his doggie sidekick biscuit dragged ‘em alllll over town. Cute, eh?

Plus, the string gets dragged through a noodle shop, hitting all the patrons’ bowls along the way, not to mention the giant noodle vat in the back. Love it! Every single time I read this, though, I pine for a neighborhood noodle shop like the one I used to frequent (Penny’s) in Chicago… Sigh. Slurp. Thalia now loves to point out when we reach this page, “They don’t want stringin their noodles, ew!” No, they most assuredly don’t, my love.

The Little Yellow Leaf, by Carin Berger

And then there is this gem, which is the exact opposite of Hugo on this list: I salivate over its immense beauty, but it has not garnered much interest (yet, I say!) from the toddler. A delicate, precise work of collage, it’s truly breathtaking, and I’m bummed that my poor blogging skills mean you’re not going to get a satisfactory gander at it here.

The story is very Lionniesque, which is another reason I love it. But ohhh, the visuals. It’s a true work of art. Like another blogger said, I want to cut out the pages and hang them on the wall. Eventually I’m definitely going to get Forever Friends, another nature-y title by Berger. (There’s a bunny in that one, so it’s got to be good.)

Wabi Sabi, by Mark Reibstein and Ed Young

Another gorgeous book using collage/paper art. Stunning, really. And the story is fantastic: A cat (tortoiseshell, like ours!) named Wabi Sabi goes on a journey to find a wise old monkey who can explain the meaning of her name. Of course this is way over Thalia’s head right now, but she loves the book for its images, and who-knows-what ideas it sparks in her imagination. I’m always confounded by reviews of picture books that complain that younger kids won’t “get” the story. So what?! They’ll get whatever they want to get! That’s the beauty of it all….

This is one we’ll be reading for many, many years, I’m sure of it.

*The Eensy Weensy Spider Freaks Out, Big Time, by Troy Cummings

Like B.B Wolf, this is a funny “revision” of a classic kids’ tale (er, rhyme). Like Hugo, the art doesn’t send me, but the story has been a real hit with Thalia, and it does hit a lot of notes that make it a pleasure for both kid and parent, much the way Pixar films do.

I mean, you have to giggle when Eensy’s mortified after her unfortunate fall from the waterspout ends up “all over the Web.”

Honorable Mentions:
Raindrop Plop!, by Wendy Cheyette Lewison and Pam Pamparone
Little Fur Family, by Margaret Wise Brown and Garth Williams
Lull-a-bye, Little One, by Dianne Ochiltree and Hideko Takahashi
Llama Llama, Red Pajama, by Anna Dewdney
Hubnuckles, by Emily Herman and Deborah Kogan Ray
Peter Rabbit, by Beatrix Potter

Phew. That’s done. We truly got a lot of story time mileage out of all these (and sooo many more that I can’t even do justice to here) in 2010, and there will be more to come, I’m sure of it.