Dewey Decimel Debacle

As a newly appointed stay at home mom, in a new town, I am desperate for opportunities to "enrich" my children's lives, which means, we (really I) need to get out of the house regularly. Either an exotic cactus show or a car wash grand opening, I will drag my kids to anyone that seems remotely entertaining, or holds the promise of a free balloon. I make a convention of scouring the local rags to find our next social fix. One day, I made a glorious discovery. How could I have overlooked it? It is perfect, educational, potentially habit forming, and has an age range that includes both my 20 month old and my three year old. Library story time; every mother's best friend.

The following Wednesday morning, we made our way into the kids' section of the local library. A young, but balding, bespectacled man approached us. He had the body of an apologetic demand mark that so wanted to be an explanation point, but he was drawn the way he was drawn. "Are you here for story time?" he inquired with a flat voice and a fleeting smile. I was reminded of Ross from Friends. "Yes!" I said, throwing enthusiasm his way, hoping he would catch a buzz. "Well, we will be starting in 10 minutes," he replied and turned away. I understanding I detected a note of fear in his voice. I was having second thoughts until I looked nearby to see who was along for the ride: some toddlers, mainly boys, being corralled by middle aged moms. "Okay," I thought, "there must be something to this, or they wouldn't be here."

Train Table For Kids

We then heard what sounded like an angry customer ringing a bell for service. I soon realized it was ringing the tune of "Jingle Bells". Considering it was February, it was disorienting, but oddly effective. The mothers and toddlers became quiet and the timid young man we met announced that it was time to succeed him. We obeyed and found ourselves in a society room where chairs were perfectly located in a half circle facing an empty seat. I scanned the room to get a view of our story teller. I looked for a wise grandmother with a dreadful voice and knowing smile. None to be found. Hmm, possibly it is a young woman in a colorful skirt, patiently waiting with her guitar. Nope. A clown? Nada. The heavy door clicked shut, and I realized that young Ross was it.

The wind began to gradually seep from my sails. I glanced behind his chair and saw that both his demeanor and his book option confirmed he did not have children and probably wasn't even an uncle. There was a book on the Asian New Year, for an audience who admittedly doesn't understand what day it is, and a book on Chinese recipes, for an audience who is not allowed near a hot stove. But, buried underneath were three gigantic, colorful books that looked promising. I told myself to remain optimistic but still checked my Smarties stash in case it got ugly. The young man made a grand gesture over to a movable Cd player on a nearby table. "Okay, let's shake the sillies out!" he said and awkwardly shook a hand as if a cigarette burned down too low on his fingers. With his other hand he flicked a switch and we all followed the song, shaking and clapping our sillies out. The song fulfilled, by asking us to "yawn" our sillies out. I told my kids to just keep jumping to the amusement of the woman with twin boys next to me, who followed suit. She then leaned over and told me that two years ago story time was "amazing" and now she fights the urge to grab the book from him and read the stories herself. I laughed quietly, but was strangely intrigued by what was to come. The song switched and we found out how happy we were by clapping our hands and stomping our feet. Judging by his intermittent clapping, it appeared young Ross was the unhappiest someone in the room.

When the song concluded, he walked over to the empty seat. "Okay, I am reading now," he strained, over the kids' voices, none of which responded to this unenthusiastic announcement. "Listen to me now...I have the book," he pushed, barely camouflaging his frustration. The parents did their best to quiet the group. He grabbed the book on the Asian New Year. "Okay, I don't know if it is the Asian New Year or the Chinese New Year." To which an older woman with an adopted Chinese son amiable said, "Chinese." "Oh, okay, Chinese New Year. And I think it is the year of the monkey?" he wavered. "I believe it is the year of the ox," said a woman who seemed all to willing to share information of any kind, "I heard it on the radio." "No, it is the year of the pig," said someone else woman. I thought, if only young Ross had the resources at his disposal to fact check before we began, perhaps, a library? As a previous teacher, I cringed in my seat and restrained myself from not only from grabbing the book from him, but from hitting him over the head with it. In the process of adults trying to politely fight over which year it was, the kids went haywire. All but my youngest, who understanding the whole sense was amazing, regardless of how hapless he was. She just wanted to dance, and she got her wish. "I think we need to shake the sillies out again," he said and fast stepped over to the Cd player. I wondered if there was a engine that could shake the sillies out of us and shove them in to young Ross. After we "yawned" them out, he returned to his chair and started shuffling through the books.

"Well, this is a formula book, but, uh...maybe not," he said and threw it aside. My oldest slapped her hand over her eyes. "What about one of those big books?" a mum recommend politely. We all urged in agreement. The kids clapped as he opened a giant, colorful book about the woman who swallowed a fly. This reaction registered as success with Ross. He became approximately moving as he read about the woman's unusual eating habits. But with each turn of the page, he lingered a bit too long on "perhaps she'll die," saying it each time with a heavy stare. Worried looks spread over the toddlers' faces. When the woman ate the horse, he managed to kill her, the room and his momentum. "She's dead of course," he said. Forced to ponder death, the kids became despondent. "So she went up to God?" said my oldest. "Why did she have to die?" said someone else girl. One boy began to cry. Young Ross immediately grabbed someone else giant book with a red barn on the cover. Skilled in the art of distraction, I started production animal noises, and other moms joined in. "Hey, yeah, let's make some animal sounds. What does a cow say?" he said. After some sounds of animals wild and domestic, the kids forgot about death and the sweat stopped trickling down Ross' brow.

After the animals in the barn book went to bed, he abruptly shut the book and told us the craft of the day was a lantern. He hurriedly handed out precut construction paper, a photo copy of the desired succeed and a stapler to share. Returning to the Cd player he said, "Okay, the next group starts in ten minutes." Moms shot each other confused glances as we frantically began assembling. Fortunately, the music drowned out the complaints. "What are we supposed to do with this?" a woman hissed to her neighbor, holding strips of paper. "I'm just shoving them in. I'm not waiting on that stapler," the woman answered. My oldest anxiously stood over me as I rushed to get two done before we were pushed out the door. Her sister, oblivious to his time demands, wildly danced to the songs playing in the background. She recognized them from Barney which added cemented in her mind that she was truly in her element. In the long pause in the middle of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Five slight Monkeys" I convinced her to head into the main library with the other parents and kids.

As the remainder of us left and the first of the next group trickled in, I looked back and saw a mixed look of relief and anxiousness on young Ross' face. I asked my three year old if she understanding it was fun. "Yeah, sure," she said meaningfully, swinging my makeshift lantern. Of course, she had nothing to collate it to. To me, it was a train wreck. So why did all those women keep coming back? Why was I Considering coming back? I think it is because, as mothers, we are used to being supportive of false starts and fearful attempts. We watch our children miss the toilet time and again, or fall face down on seemingly level surfaces, so, possibly it is only natural that we give young Ross the benefit of a second opportunity and return the following week. Nah. I just need to get out of the house.

Dewey Decimel Debacle