Dragon Tales

I've always been a regular library patron, but lately I've been spending more time in the children's library than in seeking out titles for myself, filling my Mary Poppins bag with books, books, books. 

(Although must seek out Shadowfever by Karen Marie Monig - the final book in a series I said I wasn't going to finish. Reading about Unseelie before bed = weird, weird dreams, even for me.) 

My completely unscientific method of finding suitable, engaging children's books (because believe me, just like with adult selections, there are some where you're like, "How did this get published??") is  to park myself in front of a particular shelf and browse, keeping in mind my audience; Lily, William, Sarah, Rachel, John, Charlie, and now Mae. Last time I was in H/I, this week, R-S-T. I like to read books before I check them out, but last week's visit was abbreviated because Martin was closing for a private banquet at 4:30. But I still did good, albeit with Dad's help. 

 

This is the Farmer by Nancy Tafuri 

Dad actually picked this one, after I asked for his help. Charlie picked it up off the table, started reading it herself and then ASKED me to read it to her, which, given that Charlie isn’t as into books as some of the other 6-year-olds I know, says something right there.

At the Firehouse by Anne Rockwell 

William, for whom I chose this book, loved it, as well he would given his love of all things related to fire. (Last week I brought him Mary Ann Hoberman's adaptation of Mrs. O'Leary's Cow.) I liked it too, in spite of the anthropomorphic Dalmatians.

The Egg by M.P. Robertson

This was, without question, the serendipitous find of the week. Sarah literally squealed when she found it in my backpack. (“You got the egg?!?!? I LOVE The Egg!!!!) And it’s been equally loved by everyone else to whom I've read it.

Because what's in the egg? Nothing other than a DRAGON. (Whether a Norwegian Ridgeback or a Hungarian Horntail, I couldn't tell you.) George (because of course the main character in a book about a dragon would be called George) doesn't so much TRAIN his dragon as mother it; since the dragon has, of course, imprinted on him. 

Charlie however was, God bless her, concerned about the third lesson, “How to Distress a Damsel. 

After I explained that damsel was an old-fashioned word for girl. (French-derived. Like Mademoiselle, get it?) Charlie still wanted to know who this girl was and why was she tied up. She completely rejected the notion that she was WILLINGLY tied up as part of the game. (Although, in a tangentially related note, this week Sarah discovered that her sister would LET her tie her up with jump ropes--once anyway--this even BEFORE we’d read The Egg.) 

Her conclusion? George, despite his studious and innocuous appearance, wasn't really a very nice boy after all. 

Good for her.

Now my damsel, if only you’d sleep in your own bed and go to bed without a fuss.  

“What if there are no damsels in distress, what if I know that and I call your bluff. Don’t you think every kitten figures out how to get down? Whether or not you ever show up.”