A Trip Down Childhood Lane

Yesterday, I spent an hour or so rearranging the books in The Peanut's room.  Her bookshelves have become overcrowded to the point that they made it impossible to find anything.

Which is unacceptable, given that she's developed a love of reading and we are trying to encourage that as much as is humanly possible.

Sometimes, being a parent can be really fun.  Finding out that you have spawned a reader is one of those times.

I culled out some of the "baby" books for donation to a local preschool and the library, got them boxed up and will deliver those today if I get time.  What I was left with was a mishmash of books she's asked for and books I've picked out for her.

Which means books that I loved as a child.  A good third of her books are a compendium of my faves.

It's so funny how that happens, too.  We took her to NYC last summer for the first time -- we rode up on the Amtrak train from Pittsburgh, and I bought a copy of The Cricket in Times Square to read to her before we went and throughout the trip.  I loved that book as a kid, with its imagery of Grand Central Station and the roar of the subways, and I thought it would be a good introduction given that we were staying in a hotel near Times Square.

But honestly?  I think I loved reading it to her as much or more than she enjoyed hearing the story.

She has the entire set of Little House books, and she enjoys some of the stories in them, but hasn't yet learned to love and devour them like I did as a kid.  My copies are so tattered they are ready to fall apart, and yet I keep them still as some sacred talisman to my childhood and pick them up as comfort reading when I'm not feeling well sometimes.

Same with The Boxcar Children series.  We have several of those books, and although she adores Benny and Violet, they aren't the ones she picks up to read just yet.  That honor, at the moment, goes to Junie B. Jones, whose grammar and manners are atrocious, but whose humor has sucked my child in to a lifetime of reading and for that I am ever so grateful.

We have an entire library of Junie B. books.  And Magic Tree House as well, which has begun to pique her interest of late.

Although it isn't all newness for her, either.  She begged for a copy of The Giving Tree recently, and then sat and read it cover to cover, pronouncing it the best book ever.

But in combing through her books yesterday, I rediscovered so many of my old favorites:  several Leo Lionni books, including Swimmy and Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse and one of my very favorite books in the entire world, Frederick. Heaven in print.  And the classic Robert McClosky Make Way for Ducklings. Love that one.

But there is also Mandy, The Secret Garden, James and the Giant Peach, the entire Chronicles of Narnia, the magical books of E. B. White, and any number of fairy tale collections, the joy that is Winnie-the-Pooh, and Beatrix Potter The Complete Tales.

It was truly a trip down my own memory lane during the tidying up yesterday, which was a lovely spoonful of sugar to make the cleaning more enjoyable.  (Yes, there is Mary Poppins on the shelf, too.)

But I know there are more books to discover for her.  And more to rediscover for me.  So what are your favorite children's books?  Do tell...

(Photo of illustration from a "Book of Rhymes", 1977; Illustrators: Janet & Anne Grahame Johnstone  via one2c900d.  Such fun whimsy.)