Sure, my baby Sadie loves her ten fingers and her ten toes
But there’s more to kids lit than beautiful poetry and adorable pictures.
While I love many of these books
And read them again and again
I will not write one.
I write quirky.
I write high imagination.
I write strong wills.
And I write about The Nitty Gritty.
I’m talking about those stand-offs with your three-year-old about something you can’t even recall because you’re so furious you want to get in your car and drive backwards in time but you can’t
so you have to figure out how to calm yourself down before you can boss your kid about calming down.
About the horrifying meltdown at a playdate gone bad.
About your sweet beautiful kid screaming poopiekaka over and over and over again in a public place to the point you actually consider pretending you don’t know him. (I know you did this, Mother!)
About the real life that real kids live with their real imperfect parents.
It’s wonderful superhero terrific.
It’s overwhelmed flooded and berserk with emotion.
And amazingly, it’s both of those in the span of ten seconds.
We are our emotions.
We smile and giggle and laugh with joy.
But we also scream and cry and throw our toys.
Kids lit can provide a safe glimpse into this nitty gritty mess.
And in the comfort of our snuggle spot, we can rubber-neck at others’ missteps.
We can problem solve, we can hug and apologize, and we can attempt in our next collision to be a little bit better.
That is poetic.