There it was, staring at me from the middle of Noodle’s bookcase. I was prepping her room for a paint job and saw one of my favorite books as a child beckoning me from the sagging shelf. We Were Tired of Living in a House
It was a risk to show it to her; on one hand, I’d be thrilled if she liked it. On the other, how is this old book going to compare to the bright illustrations of The Daddy Book
Ever daring, I placed it in her pile of books to read. When bedtime rolled around, I hesitantly asked, “how about this new book?”
She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, smiled, and tapped the cover three times. “This one!” she said. And, thank goodness, she meant it.
Like cracking open a treasure chest, we began to read.
“We were tired of living in a house.”
“So we packed a bag with sweaters and socks…”
and so begins the beautifully written and captivating story of four children who decide to live in a tree (until it gets too windy), in a cave (until they meet the bears) and a few other places children might dream of going. When I was young, I adored how they set up house in each spot, complete with a table set for tea or a pulley to pull up a pail or turrets and moats (in their sand castle). There was so much imagination on each page, as a child it inspired me to go outside and create my own dreams out of nothing. Stumps became thrones, branches were brooms, driftwood was a shipwrecked boat. Literally, there were no limits to what my friends and I imagined once we got started.
As we turned the pages, I pointed out the children in the book and said, “there’s Abby! And Jane! And Ben! And Jacob!” naming herself and her cousins on each page. You see, twenty thirty years ago, those same illustrated children were my cousins, according to my dad. As Noodle and I read the story, they transformed right there on the page into the new generation– and somehow it held as much magic for Noodle as it did for me.
As her eyes made their way around each black and white page, they glowed.
We pointed out the frog (“who was a particular friend”), balloon, the tea party, the umbrella. With each page, something new to find and smile about. “Jacob” seemed to love digging in the sand, and “Ben” was dripping with water in the pond. Suddenly, the book was now about her adventures with her favorite people.
I wondered if her imagination was racing, as mine once did. If once her head hit the pillow, she’d dream about building a raft with her cousins and sailing across the sea.
As the story ended, it was her turn to choose two more books before bedtime. Without hesitation, “wup, wup, wup!” she softly tapped on the yellowing book cover. And for book three? You guessed it. Wordlessly she pointed to the same book and we read it a third time.
The day will come when she’ll want tutus and boas and heels and dresses to act out her dress-up dreams. But tonight? Tonight I’ll be thankful she’s still three, and that imagination can run free without constraint. She can be a pirate, or a train conductor, or a princess if that’s what she wants. Her costume trunk, when the time comes, will probably contain both an eye patch and a tiara. Maybe a construction hat. And for sure a safari hat.
But I never want her to forget she’s limited only as much as her dreams, and I want those dreams to be expansive and free.
Next time we read the story, I bet (by her decree) the oldest boy will be named Justin and the other girl, Olive. The names will change, but not the heart, and I can only pray one day she’ll be reading the same story to her little ones. What the children will be named is anyone’s guess, but regardless there’s no doubt in my mind that when the words roll off her tongue, she’ll be transported back in time to a warm and special place– her imagination. And I hope she’ll remember the warmth and comfort of the two of us, huddled over a book in our jammies, reading together with wonder and love.
As a member of From Left to Write book club, I received a copy of the book The Costume Trunk
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Carrie, I love it. Your post was elegant and moving. Similiarly, my husband and I have loved sharing some of our old favorites with our daughter…one I adored (and now, so does Sophia) was Cristina Katerina and the Box. I never looked at a cardboard box the same way. Do you know it?
We have a bunch of my husband’s childhood books. I love watching him as he reads them to our kids. One of their favorites is Mouse Soup (along with the record, yep it’s the record book)
I LOVE this post. I love that you’re sharing a childhood favorite with your daughter and encouraging her “imagination to run free without constraint.” Great line! I’ve loved books since I was little, although, I’m not sure what my favorite is. I haven’t heard of We Were Tired of Living in a House. I might have to go find a copy to share with my son. Stopping by from Left to Write.
That’s so wonderful a new generation is appreciating a great book. I have some books like eloise that my mom enjoyed that I’m trying to get my kids to read.
This is beautifully written and the pictures are magical as well. Eloise was a favorite of mine too!
What a lovely book. A bit older, I was influenced in the same sort of way by the Swiss Family Robinson and the house that they made from found objects.
Beautiful. It’s wonderful that you can share those magical moments with Noodle.
Great post! My great memories of books come from reading them to my children. My very favorite which I insist that my grandson occasionally listen to is What Do You Do With a Kangaroo? Such fun!