Because your Daddy loves you

We have a very standard routine when putting Margaret to bed. Following dinner, which invariably involves some sort of crisis when Margaret objects to the food that she's been given (often without trying it - "But I know you like peas! You can't live on raisins alone!"), we head upstairs, generally for a bath. As my previous post discussed, baths are not as traumatic as they once were. After the bath, we put on our PJs, a new word in Margaret's vocabulary, and then we read books. Lots and lots of books. As the actual reader of these books, one becomes quite the connoisseur of children's literature, as I think I've mentioned before. Good books have a number of characteristics.

First, a good rhythm. One of the recent books from the library that I really enjoyed was Hippos Go Berserk by one of the stalwarts of children's lit, Sandra Boynton. Not only does that book involve one of Margaret's favorite animals (Bippos!!), but it has a great rhyming rhythm. First page - "One hippo all alone." Second page - "Calls two hippos on the phone." Third page - "Three hippos at the door." Fourth page - "Bring along another four." And so on until the hippos all go berserk in a party that's more wild than any I remember from college. After which, the hippos start leaving and the cadence of the book changes. Still rhyming and rhythmic, but very different from the initial arrival of the hippos. Brilliant. I can see why the author is such a star among the kiddie set. (In my opinion, Abby could never quite get the cadence of this book, a problem that is present for lots of other books. Of course, such editorial comments only ensure that I'll be reading lots more kiddie books in the future. Whoops. But at least I'll read them right!)

The second key characteristic of a good book is one that induces responses from Margaret. For example, various Berenstain Bears books have facial expressions that Margaret likes to mimic. Or she'll point out characters such as Peter in "A Snowy Day" or the Mamas who show up in various texts. My parents brought us a whole series of books that were a hit in this respect entitled "Can You?" which involve photos of animals engaged in certain behavior along with questions like "Can You?" . . . "Stick out your tongue." Margaret likes the animals (another quality of a good book), but also likes to mimic them.

After working through a number of these books each night (I believe that I typically read Margaret more of them than Abby does - darnit another editorial comment that will come back to bite me - where's the "censor" button on these computers?), Margaret and I conclude with a book that someone out there gave us at some point: "Because your Daddy loves you." Now, this isn't a great rhyming book, and the pictures aren't that great. But there are drawings of a little girl and her Daddy which lead Margaret to point at the little girl and then herself when asked "Where's the little girl?" and to point at the Daddy and then me when asked "Where's the Daddy?" (which always gets a big bearhug from me after she does so.) What's really interesting about this book is the message that it's clearly sending to the Daddies of the world:

When you stop for ice cream on the way home and your cone
makes a big gooey mess, your daddy could say,
Now look what you've done!
But he doesn't.

He finds a paper napkin and he gets it wet at the drinking fountain.
He wipes off your mouth, then both of your
hands - one sticky finger at a time.

Basically, this is a book to prevent "child abuse," broadly defined. Of course I can't yell at Margaret after reading this book even if she's tearing up the house. Because her Daddy loves her. (I've been teaching her to say "menace" so that when I ask her "Margaret, what are you?" she'll reply "menace." She doesn't quite have it down yet.)

But the end is the best part. The Daddy carries the girl up to bed:

And then your daddy could say,
See you tomorrow,
or
Sleep tight,
or
Sweet dreams.
But he doesn't.
He says,
"I love you."

It's sickeningly sweet, but when we get to that last line, Margaret, knowing what's coming, "says" it too me, in her own garbled way. A few hugs and then she's in bed.