Be the dog

Can we read? No. 145

Good morning, good people.

I am slowly recovering from more than a week of an unknown illness — not strep, not influenza A or B, not Covid, not RSV… so, virus X, I guess — that has taken me out like I have not been taken out in years. Of course we are leaving for spring break in, I don’t know, 52 hours, and I am trying desperately to be up for the journey from southern Wisconsin to the Smoky Mountains. We are Midwesterners, so driving 11 hours is nothing to us — who would even consider flying, it’s only 11 hours! — and yet, not gonna lie, I found myself looking up the price of plane tickets just yesterday.

I am not going to spend $5,000 to fly four people to Knoxville (or, anywhere else, really) — no, I’m going to accept what is, and find a way to be grateful.

My late grandmother — who operated at a level of optimism that bordered on wizardry, which my mom and I are convinced directly correlated with her living to be 102 years old — sometimes used to say, “Some days you’re the dog, and some days you’re the hydrant.” It’s really easy to spend time feeling like you’re the hydrant, especially when it’s temporarily true that you are, in fact, the hydrant. But if I’m going to spend my energy — and I am going to spend it somewhere, on something — I’d rather spend it figuring out ways I’m the dog.

Hydrant: I’ve missed almost a week of work, which absolutely kills me.
Dog: I have enough sick leave to cover this, and plenty left over, even after the other week I was out with a concussion in January.

Hydrant: I haven’t been able to exercise or leave the house or do much of anything at all and I’m going nuts.
Dog: I’ve read, on average, two books a day, many of which have been really great, and I’ve watched some excellent documentaries.

Hydrant: I am so sick; woe is me.
Dog: I haven’t been sick since the time I got Covid on a beach vacation in October 2022 — I’m so lucky to have been healthy this long.

Hydrant: I am about to spend 11+ hours in a car.
Dog: I (still) get to go on spring break with my family, to a beautiful area of the country, to an AirBnB that overlooks a national park.

This is not emotional invalidation or an insistence on good vibes only or any kind of dismissing of the very real difficulty of the very real challenges we all face, once in awhile or even often. This is recognition that, even when things aren’t going the way I planned or would like them to go, there is a flipside available to me that feels a hell of a lot better than the side where I’m being peed on.

This is acknowledgment that life can be hard and good, at the same time. (Is this ever untrue?)

This is recognition that we are deeply resilient and we have survived so much and that has not, will never, change.

This is acceptance of things as they are, so can either make them different or let them go.

This is refusing — absolutely and categorically refusing — to talk about how everything is terrible and we’re all doomed, so I can focus on showing up when and where I can.

Of course there are times when I give in and give up and submit to being the hydrant — we all do — but I’ll be damned if I’m going to live there.

The hydrant stays in one place and usually only opens up in emergencies. No, thank you. I have too much I want to accomplish and experience, feel and see and do. The dog gets to have adventures, be of service, live for love and pleasure, go out and soak up the world.

The trick is that I have to choose to be the dog.

The good thing is that, always, I do.

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The Creature of Habit Tries His Best by Jennifer E. Smith, illustrated by Leo Espinosa (2024)

I received a copy of this book from Random House Children’s Books — all opinions are my own

When I first read this book, I had no idea the creature of Habit starred in a previous book — called, wait for it, The Creature of Habit — but to be honest, I’m glad: this way I got to meet this intensely lovable character for the first time, as he tackles a challenging milestone most of us are familiar with: learning to ride a bike.

As someone who is a hardcore creature of habit — left to my own devices, I will do the same thing every single day, eat the same meal for months straight, and be perfectly happy in my comfy little rut — I identify with the creature’s struggle: he wants to try something new, and he does, but even the trying is rough.

Finally, eventually — this is a children’s book, so, of course — the creature decides he might not ever be the best at riding a bike, but what if he could be the best at trying to ride it?

I won’t spoil the ending, merely say I adore this one, with its endearing and relatable story — even those among us who are great at stepping out of our comfort zones know what it’s like to be a beginner, or should — coupled with Espinoza’s super charming digital illustrations. This is one of my favorite new books in awhile.

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I Will Dance by Nancy Bo Flood, illustrated by Julianna Swaney (2020)

This review first appeared in issue No. 33 — I’ve edited and updated it here

“On my birthday, can’t blow out the candles — not enough strength. But I have one wish: a pink tutu. I want to dance.” So begins this lovely story of an unnamed girl who can only move her head, arms, and fingers, and who doesn’t want to pretend.

Her mother promises her they will find a way, and they do: an audition in the newspaper invites people of all ages and abilities to try out to dance. The girl’s feelings are familiar, whether you live with a disability or not: she’s not sure she’s ready, she’s worried about what others will think. But she wants to try, and she does. In the studio, she finds all kinds of people, and they dance together, learning how to move as themselves and as one.

Based on the Young Dance Company (and a real performer in that group), this story is as strong as it is beautiful — Flood has crafted a narrative that handles a tender topic with grace, perfectly paired with Swaney’s evocative graphite and watercolor illustrations. There is much to talk about here — about bodies, abilities, hopes and dreams — and it’s a conversation worth having again and again.

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Play Games with Me by Kat Chen, illustrated by Lorraine Nam (2024)

I received a copy of this book from Penguin Young Readers — all opinions are my own

This delightful board book has an expected and welcome twist: it’s sort of an interactive indoor playdate, inviting kiddos ages 1-3 years old to participate by asking simple questions (“Which blocks do you want to play with? What will you build?”)

More than practicing conversation and skills like caring and sharing, the narrative here centers around a young child — whose name is Rex but whose gender is also never overtly stated and therefore ambiguous, as far as I’m concerned — as they play in various rooms and spots in their house. (There are two companion books Play With Me and Play Outside With Me, that take place in different locations with different children, which would be a fun collection to have.)

Nam’s cut paper, paint, and digital illustrations are bright and merry, adding to the cheerful tone of this sweet book, which will appeal to the littlest readers immediately.

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Out of the Box: 25 Cardboard Engineering Projects for Makers by Jemma Westing (2017)

This review first appeared in issue No. 22 — I’ve edited and updated it here

This one’s for any of you inundated with cardboard boxes and children 😂 (and/or those of you who, like me, enjoy both trash and a glue gun — two things I am always surprisingly up for).

This is a straightforward project book — what you see is what you get — and the ideas range from easy-peasy to so complex that when I first saw some of them, I actually threw my head back laughing (a lion mask with a mane crafted from approximately 200 thin strips of cardboard? I would be sucked into box-cutting until my hand cramped, do 98% of the work, and then my kids would destroy it in less than five minutes).

From the good to the ridiculous, there is a lot of creativity to be exercised here — and if you’re losing your mind just a little and need to channel that stir-crazy energy, well, glue gun sticks are cheap, and the fun is real.

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Sarah