Games for reading, and more

Can we read? No. 74

Good morning. It’s hard for me to type those words. It was much, much harder for me to let my 8yo go when I dropped her off at school today — after she leaned into the front seat to kiss me (we hug before we get in the car at home), I reached back once she had her feet on the ground, grabbed her hand, and said, for probably the fifth time in 30 seconds, “I love you.” I love you, I love you, I love you.

These are the days, the times, when it’s hard to be a “content creator,” 🤮 god help me — I am a person, a writer, who runs on a schedule, not only because this was the way I was trained to work (on deadline), but because if I want this newsletter to exist in my life, with its complex Rube Goldberg machine of moving parts, I need it to be this way. Still, it feels pointless and utterly unimportant and like throwing a handful of my brain into the void, and for what?

On my commute this morning, in between prayers and chewing over the fact that our word of the day today was “optimism,” and when my children and I talked about it, inside I was wondering, what the hell do I know about optimism anymore?, I made a mental plan to take extra time tonight to read with my kids. We’ve already read today, at breakfast, but I need to do it again tonight. My use of the word “I” is no accident — it’s me who needs to feel the weight of them on my lap and against my arm; it’s me who needs the connection; it’s me who needs to reread all our favorite fairy tales and remember that, probably from the first moment we came down out of the trees and stumbled into a cave, the world has been a scary and terrible place full of more grief than we think we can bear, and yet we do. We do bear it. Reading aloud, reading together hasn’t yet — to the best of my knowledge — solved any problems in the world, but it does have a way of soothing the soul, at least sometimes, and that is what I’m seeking.

Two additional things for you; take what you like and leave the rest:

I’m running (another) giveaway to celebrate this newsletter’s 2nd birthday, which I announced yesterday in case you missed it. You can read more about it — and enter to win one of four prizes — here:

Happy birthday, Can we read! 🎂

Also, I wanted to share an interview — Salma Wehrmeyer of the She Does Profess and the She Does Profess podcast, which serves to delve deep into the confinements of others’ lives, digging into their philosophies, worldviews, and other motivators that shape them, interviewed yours truly last week.

I speak in front of people all the time in my day job, where my biggest worry is not whether I can handle it or whether I will do it well, rather, please don’t let me fall down in my heels, but I’m not gonna lie: the idea of being a guest on a podcast had me feeling like I’d swallowed a bag of marbles. Still, I showed up — I always show up, rattling marbles or not — and I had so much fun. (Thank you to Salma for having me.)

If listening to an hour-long conversation about children’s books and reading isn’t your jam, scroll on by — but if you want a glimpse into my life behind the scenes of this newsletter and much more about my thought processes behind reading to my kids and building a culture of reading in one’s home, this is for you.

Episode 2 - Sarah Miller, Can We Read?

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The Town Musicians of Bremen by Gerda Muller (2015)

No doubt “The Town Musicians of Bremen” is one of those Brothers Grimm tales that can make you wonder, “But what does it mean?” Despite many, many readings of several different versions, I still haven’t figured it out, but I’m not sure it matters: it appeals, nevertheless (and I can’t figure that out either).

My experience with this somewhat strange old tale, which follows a small group of animals who decide to run away to Bremen Town to be musicians before their owners can do away with them due to their inability to work anymore, is this: kids either love this one (my 5yo) or can take it or leave it (my 7yo, who became my 8yo a week and a half ago).

Still, I think there is merit in reading things that we perhaps don’t understand, at first or ever — and the culmination of the animals’ weird journey, where they spy a cottage full of robbers, burst in on them in order to eat their food, and then scare them away when they return during the night by pretending to be supernatural beings isn’t all that understandable, frankly: it’s just wild and bizarre.

But it has one element that makes utter sense: this small group of cast-off and seemingly powerless animals finds themselves in a position to oust those who are stronger and ostensibly better — adult humans — and when they triumph, however oddly, it’s enormously gratifying for children, the other small group of cast-off and seemingly powerless beings who, I’m sure, sometimes wish they could achieve a similar level of victory by kicking out and utterly besting the grownups. (I mean isn’t that kind of attractive, no matter your age?)

In that way — along with Muller’s detailed and finely rendered watercolor illustrations, which make this, in my opinion, the best version out there — it’s a fantasy story, and we can all use a good dose of those, at least once a while.

(For more on the importance of reading fairy tales, even the most peculiar ones, check out my Spotlight On: Folk and Fairy Tales, Part 1.)

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On Mother’s Lap by Ann Herbert Scott, illustrated by Glo Coalson (1972)

This one may be familiar to many of you — it’s an oldie-but-goodie, and a go-to gift for baby showers — but I wanted to review it for those of you who might not know it, because it’s just too good to miss.

This tender story opens with Michael sitting on his mother’s lap, rocking back and forth, back and forth, and clearly enjoying being close to one another. Michael suggests that some of his beloved objects join them, one by one: Dolly, Boat, his reindeer blanket, even Puppy, and Michael is happy as Mother makes room for them all. But his feelings change when Baby starts crying — he protests, “There isn’t room,” but Mother gently suggests, “Let’s see,” and sure enough, as Michael and Baby both snuggle close on Mother’s lap, rocking back and forth, back and forth, it turns out there is plenty of room for all.

Thank goodness I was my mother’s only child and didn’t have to truly share her with anyone (my half-siblings, though precious to me, are much older and never lived with us full-time) because I was a super jealous child, possessive of her, and never willing to spread her love around — and what I think of every time we read this book is how she used to tell me, on repeat when I needed to hear it, that “love is not like a pie,” meaning, there isn’t a limited amount to go around but rather an infinite well, enough for everyone. I am 39 years old and still get mad when I think my mother is spending too much of our time together talking to my husband — I’m a grownup but not a mature one, apparently, or maybe that’s indicative of just how much I love my mom.

Which is all to say: these types of feelings are real, they are big, and sometimes they last a long time. Imagine how hard it might be to experience them as a little kid. That’s why this book is magic — it addresses, in a soft, beautiful way (through Herbert Scott’s masterful spare text, matched perfectly by Coalson’s cozy, muted pastels depicting an Inuit mother and children in their home) what can be a hard and continually complex experience for children (and, uh, some adults).

If you have toddlers and preschoolers, I can’t recommend this title enough.

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Wynken, Blynken, and Nod and Other Bedtime Poems, edited by Linda C. Falken, illustrated by Karen Milone (1987)

If you are looking for a way to incorporate more poetry into your routine that requires almost zero effort, may I suggest starting with one poem at bedtime, before your other reading? (Or if bedtime reading isn’t your thing, read a poem for 30 seconds and call it a night — you have permission to do what works best for your family!)

I reviewed my two favorite versions of the poem, “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” in issue No. 4, so that is not my focus here — it just happens to be the title of this easy but excellent collection that is chock-full of recognizable classics by English and American poets, some of whom might be familiar to you (Robert Louis Stevenson, A.A. Milne, even Shakespeare), and some less so (Karla Kuskin, G. Orr Clark).

These are well and truly bedtime poems, full of night and sleep and as hushed as any lullaby:

“Night Plane” by Frances Frost

The midnight plane with its riding lights
looks like a footloose star
wandering west through the blue-black night
to where the mountains are,
a star that’s journeyed nearer earth
to tell each quiet farm
and little town, ‘Put out your lights,
children of earth. Sleep warm.’

If I could change one thing about this compilation it would be Milone’s watercolor illustrations, which, though charming, depict exclusively white children and could have benefitted from a lot more diversity. (Thankfully the publishing industry has come a long way since 1987. The best way to balance a lack of representation in your home library is to actively seek out inclusive books — some suggestions that would pair well with this title are Night Garden by Janet Wong, one of our favorites; Poems to Dream Together / Poemas Para Soñar Juntos by Francisco X. Alarcón; and A Full Moon is Rising by Marilyn Singer.)

Still, I recommend this one if you’re trying to add more poetry (and/or trying to stay patient and sane at bedtime — a double win!) It’s not perfect, but it’s just right for a few minutes of beautiful language before bed.

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Games for Reading: Playful Ways to Help Your Child Read by Peggy Kaye (1984)

I wish I could tell you that during the year I homeschooled our daughter, then 6yo and in 1st grade (2020-21), I taught her to read easily and with great joy, that she became an effortless, skillful reader in a couple of months and without tears, but alas, that is not our story. If you need help with teaching the mechanics of reading, you’ll not find that here.

On the other hand, if you need honesty about the fact — and it is a fact — that kids learn to read at all different ages and paces and that's entirely developmentally appropriate, and it’s okay if they’re not where you or anyone else thinks they “should” be, and that it’s possible to keep the love of reading alive while a child is learning to read, you’re in the right place. (You subscribe to this newsletter: keep reading it, keep reading aloud to your kiddos, keep putting good books in their hands.)

Still, if you want to help the process along a little bit — whether you’re the one doing all the instruction, solo (my heart is with you), or you’d simply like to supplement the instruction happening in a traditional classroom, Peggy Kaye is your lady.

This book is chock-full of, yes, playful, genuinely fun activities for kindergarten through 2nd grade (though you could start a little earlier and extend it a little longer, depending on your needs) that focus on games for the eye and the ear, games for understanding, games for making sense. Games like Consonant Box, Rabbit Sounds, and my personal favorite with my older daughter, Gift Words, run the gamut of skills, covering nearly everything a beginner reader needs to learn, and — as stated in the introduction — “draw on one skill all children have in abundance, the ability to play.”

What you’ll find here is simple and effective and perhaps best of all, none of it requires special material beyond what you probably already have at home (index cards, a sheet of 8.5 x 11 paper) or a ton of upfront work to assemble. It’s not “open and go,” but it’s not “open and spend two hours creating a game you’ll play for 10 minutes if your child is in a great mood,” either — in fact, many games are simply verbal and require no materials at all. It was written in 1984 and it has 1984 vibes — meaning, Pinterest did not exist, and these games (and anyone who uses this book) are all the better for it.

(If you like this one, I also highly recommend two of Kaye’s other books, Games for Math and Games for Writing.)

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Thanks for reading today.

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And I thank you,
Sarah