September 5th, 2011 § Comments Off on Paris Book List for Kids § permalink
This is my last Paris post. Sorry for those who aren’t Francophiles.
The books for the kids were key. We read tons before we left and while on the trip, and it gave the kids things to look for and focus on. Tons of these books are at the library, lots are available used, and some we simply splurged on. Of course there are many more, but these are the ones we read and used and that, in the next month, I’ll forget, so here they are:
Guidebooks Fodor’s Around Paris with Kids, 4th Edition (Around the City with Kids) : This was the guide book I used the most. A few misses, but mostly great information with helpful suggestions of places to eat near each sight. Paris: While We’re Young: An interesting book in that it puts together a complete itinerary based on history instead of geography for you as well as gives you the history you need to know. As clever as it was, this was the book I used the least. City Walks: Paris, Revised Edition: 50 Adventures on Foot: This is a series of walks printed on individual cards. Very handy to pull out the card for the day and just stick it in my bag as a “just in case.” We followed a couple of them and it was fun. Rick Steves’ Paris 2011: The best guidebook for all-over traveling. Great food suggestions, nice walks, great for picking out the “must-sees.”
I have a distinct memory from—I don’t know what year, but we were living in the South Florida house, so it was definitely pre-1979—and Rod Stewart’s hit at the time, “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” came on the radio. I started to sing it within earshot of my mother. I’m 9 or 10 years old. My mom listened, horrified.
“What a horrible message that song is giving!” she said.
“What?” I asked, uncertain of what she meant.
“He’s saying, ‘If you want my money and you think I’m sexy.’ What kind of message is that, that a woman will sleep with him if he’s rich?”
“No, mom!” I said exasperated. “He’s singing, ‘If you want my body and you think I’m sexy!”
“Oh!” my mom said, clearly not sure where to go with this. “Well, I guess that’s okay.”
My mother was never one to censor what I listened to/read. I remember during the Colorado years—so about ages 11 to 13—I checked Judy Blume’s Wifey out from the Boulder Public Library.
“This is not a children’s book!” the librarian said to me and my mother sternly.
“I do not censor what my daughter reads,” my mother told her back, just as sternly.
The librarian was correct. But then so was my mother.
Flash forward thirty years or so. On one hand, I try not to censor my children’s pop culture consumption, as evidenced by the F bomb my daughter dropped in the car today with two friends and their mother. I thank Cee Lo Green for that one.
On the other hand, I do try to warn them of road bumps. For instance, my not-yet-eight-year-old son saw a sign at the library of good books for boys. But this list was in the teen section.
“I think I’d like the book Spanking Shakespeare,” he tells me. “I saw it on the library list.”
I read the Amazon reviews. I make note of comments such as “obsession with masturbation, sex, drug-use and alcohol.” I tell my almost-third-grader, “You know how you hate it when people kiss on TV?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Well, they do a lot of kissing in this book.”
“Ewwww!” Book effectively dismissed. At least for now.
But then there are times when things sneak up on you. The boy, the girl, and myself are all hooked on the upbeat song “Pump Up the Kicks” by Foster the People. I downloaded it onto everyone’s iPods and play it all the time in the kitchen. Who doesn’t dance to this song?
The other day, as I heard Pie singing the words, I started paying more attention. And I realized this chirpy little song is actually a horribly morose story about a kid shooting kids at his school, a la Columbine. Granted, this isn’t something I’d shelter them from, but I would think twice about singing it at the top of our lungs while we do our kitchen dance or at least I’d have thought of a good explanation for the lyrics that wouldn’t terrify them.
To censor or not to censor, that is the question. I prefer to err on the side of “not,” but then the world seems much scarier than it was when I was a child. School shootings, 9/11, cyberbullying, AIDS, all those things that simply didn’t exist when I was a kid.
How do you protect your kids yet still enjoy a great dance beat?
I am on the Acela headed south to New York City. (Whenever I say “New York City,” I think of that old salsa ad.) So you, my friends (or whoever you are), will be subject to my random thoughts of the moment.
—I sent in my marketing materials to my agent, but haven’t gotten feedback on it yet. I think that those marketing materials were the hardest thing I’ve had to write—definitely harder than the novel itself; possibly harder than the query. And I feel like a jerk calling my own writing “powerful” and “engaging.” I mean, it is “powerful” and “engaging,” I’d just rather others say it for me.
—Shoes. I hate shoes. I never know what shoes go with what. Which makes it especially annoying that by the front door of our house lives a shoe pile that makes the annual shoe sale at Nordtrom look contained:
There are eight feet in this family! Why are there so many shoes? My daughter alone could shoe a small nation with the ones she hordes in her closet. Seriously. She does not part with shoes. No matter how small they get.
—I missed National Short Story Month. Seriously. Apparently May was National Short Story Month and I just blinked and let it slip by. Which is a shame, because short stories are so digestible. What’s June? I mean other than National It’s My Birthday Month So What Are You Getting Me? Only 23 shopping days left, people! One Story, which is a journal I love and highly recommend, published a list of the top 10 short stories. I think my goal for the next 12 months is to read every story on their top 10 and their big list.
—V. S. Naipaul, what up? I mean, dude, I stood by you through that whole Paul Theroux feud. I mean, yes, you sounded like an ass. But who knows? Theroux has proven in his writing that he’s not always the easiest man to get along with. But women writers suck? All of them? Look, I’ve actually read your books. And let me tell you, there are plenty of folks who say they’ve read your books, but I’ve actually sat down and read, from beginning to end, three of your books (technically, three and a half. I couldn’t get through Half a Life: A Novel). I was a loyal fan. But not anymore. We’re done. Jack ass.
—I have no idea where I am. I see highway and bridges. Oh, and water! So I am officially somewhere between Massachusetts and New York (sorry Rhode Island and Connecticut that I can’t tell you apart).
—Does the train really need to be air conditioned? I won’t even turn on the air condition in my own home, because although we’ve hit 88 degrees, it’s not summer yet. Wasteful train.
—Oh, I’m in New London! Which would be helpful if I had any idea where New London was. Gotcha, Connecticut. I can tell by the Foxwoods signs. I may not know my towns, but I do know my casinos.
Okay, signing off now, because I did promise myself I’d take this train ride to do more revising. Or sleeping. Or revising in my sleep. Something like that. There might be more from NYC. There’s bound to be lots of tweets. Something about New York just makes me Twitter happy. Fuggedaboutit.
