Like most moms, I spend a lot of time reading children’s books. Every night we glide through sleepy rhythmic cadences, while smirking at the hidden educational lessons masked as silly little rhymes.
But every once in a while, a book comes along that makes me wish my vocal chords had been severed.
Maybe that’s a little extreme. It’s not that these books are that bad…no, no that actually is it. These books are so bad that they make me wish I had no voice to read them aloud with.
We’re Going on a Bear Hunt
The repetition, the wretched repetition. I mean seriously, if I have to say “We’re going on a bear hunt. We’re going to catch a big one. What a beautiful day. We’re not scared.” one more effing time, I might just feed myself to that damn bear. And it’s not bad enough that you have to weather the long-winded journey through the forest the first time through, you then have to retrace your steps aaaaall the way back to the beginning. This time faster, and with more enthusiasm, because you’re being chased! Speaking of picking up the pace, I often speed through this one to get it over with faster, and am left so winded at the end that I’m damn near the point of suffering a stroke. I swear.
Love You Forever
This one starts out alright. A sweet story of a mother’s love for her little boy. But when that little boy turns into a man, this story takes a turn toward the creeptastic. Why is this lady breaking into her son’s home at night to watch him sleep? No offense, but this type of obsessive behavior definitely warrants a call to the authorities. But that’s not even the worst of it. Then the little loon cradles her full-grown-manchild in her arms to rock him to sleep. Does anyone else think this is straight up Psycho?
Never has a book mapped out a clearer path to a life of crime, than the one laid out to children reading this book. And I’m not talking about the cute little PBS cartoon monkey around these days. I’m talking about the OG Curious George, 1941 style. What a horrible story to tell kids. One of international kidnapping, fraudulent 911 calls, jail break, balloon theft and he smokes a effing pipe, people. Alright I’ll level with you. Secretly I love this book. But how am I supposed to explain a pipe-puffing monkey to my 5-year-old? It’s just bubbles baby, just bubbles.
The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts
There is never any reason to encourage little boys to fart. Never.
But alas, my boys love each of these books. And I love the time spent reading with them. So what’s a parent to do but cuddle up with your buttercups, tuck yourselves under the blankies, and reluctantly crack open those covers.