My Feelings Exactly

  There are two kinds of books for children.

  As immortalized in the Brian Regan comedy routine, there is the board book, with a total of sixty words about a happy clock with an obscene price tag of $12.99. I don't mind board books, because I can read four or five of them to my daughter in the space of three minutes, kiss her goodnight, and get on with a long evening of laundry and mindless television. (What? You never watch mindless television at the end of a long day? You're the person who always finds a good book? Then tell me how you can fold underwear and prop a book open with  your toes and I'll join you.)

   Anyway, there's the second kind of book for children: the well-meaning STORY book. It has 40,000 words, detailing the emotional state of a butterfly who can't find it's shoes (or something like that), and it takes two hours to read out loud (including intermission). I wish I could say that I look forward to curling up with my children and reading them unabridged versions, but I confess that I may sometimes just point to the picture and say, "Where is the doggie? Good! Did the doggie get a bone (after a lot of unnecessary angst?) Good! Yay! The end!"
   Unfortunately for me, my eldest son, Spiderman, he of the now FIVE YEARS of age, can read. He reads well enough to know when I'm skipping, and he will stop me. "Mommy, you didn't read that word!" I can't adequately explain to him that my plot summaries are much better than the actual books ( there's a Twilight burn in there somewhere...) - so I am doomed to nightly long version renditions.

   Until THE book was discovered.

   The best book, the Terry Pratchett "Where's My Cow?" book. The book that has a children's book within it, and a series of inside-jokes for Discworld lovers surrounding. It has saved me. But more than that, it has a series of very readable words - followed by long paragraphs that are much more difficult for a five year old.

    I knew that salvation had come at last when Spiderman insisted on reading it to his little sister, Princess. They cuddled angelically on the sofa, and arranged the fuzzy blanket just so. Then he began, "Where's my Cow? Is that my Cow? Is says, 'Quack-Quack!' It is a duck. That is not my Cow."
   Then he turned the page - stared silently - and declared:

    "This is too many words."
    He turned the page and skipped on.

   "Where's my Cow? Is that my Cow? It says, 'Neigh'. That is not my Cow...."


    That's my boy.