knowonder! November 2009 by knowonder!

november 2009

Stories by You page 10

For Kids by Kids page 86

For You by You page 110

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{ from the founder & publisher }

From the Founder and Publisher ‘Tis the season to be thankful, and so I thought I would take some time to tell you what I am thankful for, in relationship to knowonder! First, I’m extremely grateful for an amazing wife who lets me follow my dreams. It has not been an easy road, but it has been a very rewarding road, for the both of us. Without her support and belief in me, I would never have accomplished all the things I have. I love you, darling! Of course, our greatest accomplishment, and the next thing I’m grateful for, is our beautiful children. They are the joy of my life. They bring happiness to my heart every time I think about them. They are so full of life, curiosity, and wonder. I love them, and am grateful for the inspiration they have been to me in this process, as well as in life, in general. Third, I’m grateful for an amazing team of devoted friends and family who have helped make knowonder! magazine a possibility by donating their time and talents. You guys are the best, and I am blessed to have such wonderful people in my life. Fourth, I am thankful for all of you! I am amazed with the response we have received, from both readers and contributors. The stories and art keep pouring in, and it thrills me to see how passionate you are about teaching your children to love reading, art, imagination and creativity. We couldn’t do knowonder! magazine without your support. I know I’ve said it before, but I can’t help it - it needs to be said again, especially at this time of year. So, THANK YOU, dear reader, contributor, supporter, and friend. May your holiday season be a wonderful one.

Phillip J. Chipping // Founder

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{ from the editor }

From the Editor We at knowonder! are so excited for all the story submissions! WOW! We couldn’t have asked for a better response. We hope you are enjoying reading stories from everyday people all around the world. Our team is working hard at reading them all, and we are amazed at what great stories you have shared with us. We look forward for more to come. Your contributions are making our little magazine such a great success! As a parent, my favorite section of the magazine is ‘For You by You’. I love to read through all the parent submissions, and feel very excited that so many people are revealing their knowledge and expertise on activities, teaching, and making learning with my child so exciting. We are definitely not bored at my house! Who would have thought you could incorporate foods into learning to read? This month in the ‘For You Buy You’ section of knowonder! Sherry Denecker’s article, “Learning to Read Outside of the Box,” has wonderful ideas on thinking outside the box in trying to teach your child to read. You could not only incorporate her ideas into reading, but other learning aspects as well. At times, I find it difficult to keep my three year old engaged in learning to draw numbers or the alphabet. Thinking outside the box not only keeps your child focused, but keeps learning fun and fresh for you both! Please remember to go to knowonder.com and vote for your favorite stories. Each month, the three stories with the most votes get special cash prizes, so don’t forget to support all the great authors who have sent in their work for us all to enjoy. Again, we thank you for all your interest and submissions to our magazine. Without you this would not be possible.

Sophie C. Bassett // Editor

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One enchanting story after anotherâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;in fact there are enough stories to share one with your children every day of the month. Enjoy.

Artwork and other wonderful things all submitted by your children. Visit our website to find out how your kids can submit their amazing work.

Storytime by You

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For Kids by Kids

{ table of contents }

110

122

Of course we saved some pages for the parents. Enjoy articles and projects about crafting, cooking, great literature, parenting & more.

More fun and games for the kids, including crossword puzzles, mazes, word-find puzzles, and of course, our favorite, the Story Game!

For You by You

Games & Fun

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Table of Contents Storytime by You 26 34 46 52 76

Twylla and the Tiger The Cow Milker The Giant Surprise Legend of the White Wolf Betsy and the White Faces

For Kids by Kids 89 91 94 104 107

I Love to Sing Shark Raining Animals Goalie My House without Parents

For You by You 112 114 116

The Amazing Alphabet Adventure Rainy Day Campout Learning to Read Outside the Box

Games & Fun 122 Word Search 122 Maze: Catch the Turkey 124 The Story Game

Miscellaneous 120 Subscribe! 126 Store Directory 130 Credits

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HALF PAGE AD

Advertiser Directory 125 Boondocks 99

Burg Pediatric

Children’s Miracle Network

129 Curves 08

Dogwood

130 Dream Dinners 63

Hoopes Vision Center

105 iFrogz 119 Kids Village

HALF PAGE AD

Imagination Place

Layers

My Traveling Housekeeper

131 Pebbles in my Pocket 19

Pictureline

Reuel’s

120 Richelle’s Salon & Day Spa 75

Shelf Reliance

Simply Mac

Stampin’ Up!

132 Thanksgiving Point 97

That’s My Room

109 Trafalga Fun Center 79

Utah Symphony

Utah’s Mama

V Chocolates

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Storytime by You

Storytime, day 1

Name That Calf Written by Liz Brigman

“Pickles! Come here!”, Dad called to me from the door of the gray stone barn. I was practicing baseball in our dirt driveway with my brother. My arm was wound back, ready to pitch. “It’s Pumpkin’s time!” “Let’s go!” Steve dropped his glove and ran. Brownie barked and chased Steve, followed by Muffin (our cat who thinks she’s a dog). Steve looked back at me. I wasn’t moving. “Come on!” he called over his shoulder. I felt like I was stuck in a deep puddle of muck. “Pumpkin’s calf is coming! Your calf! Run, run!” My feet listened. I ran up to my father. My thoughts were coming as fast as my breaths. I felt the way I do before I pitch a game - excitement and worry twisted into a knot in my stomach. I tapped my gloved hand on my leg and my right hand gripped the baseball tightly. “Maybe this calf should be Steve’s,” I said. “No, it is your turn,” said Steve. “I don’t know how to care for a calf,” I said, kicking the dirt. “We’ll help,” said Steve. “Don’t worry, Pickles. We’re here,” said Dad, “Ready to go in?” I heard a short loud moo. “I need to calm my insides first,” I said. “We’ll wait,” said Dad. I stood next to the open door. Worrying, like pitching, is something I do well. When I started pitching, I learned how to control my worry thoughts. If I let fear creep into my thoughts every time an excellent hitter came up to bat, I would be throwing lots of wild pitches. So before a game, I prep my brain.

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From Texas, USA

“What if...,” I whispered. My chest hurt with the pain of remembering how sad I was last spring. “What if this calf dies like the last one?” I popped the ball into my glove a couple of times. I took a deep breath. “What if this one lives?” I said loudly. “Then I will be happy and have to pick a name!” I turned back to my family smiling. “And Mom will start cooking!” replied Steve laughing. “Depending on the name you choose, Mom might have to learn a new recipe!” I had never picked a name before. On our farm, all the animals were named after food or spices. Dad had food nicknames for everyone in our family, too. He said that way we could never go hungry. “I want to pick the perfect name,” I said. “It’s simple,” said Dad. “Look, and then decide what you are hungry for.” “Don’t pick squash, asparagus, or something yucky,” said Steve. “’Cause you know Dad, he’ll be asking Mom to cook it everyday for weeks!” I remembered when Mom named the dog Brownie. We’d had brownies for dessert every night for a month! “Let’s go.” I put down my glove and ball. “What do we do?” I whispered as we neared Pumpkin’s stall. “Nothing,” whispered Dad. “Pumpkin does all the work.” We sat on bales of hay and peered between wooden boards at Pumpkin. Her orangey-brown belly was big and round. “It will be soon,” said Dad. In a few minutes, a slippery calf was lying on the ground. Pumpkin

Storytime:

How it works... licked her baby. Dad went into the stall. I stared at the wet blob. Was it alive? Dad wiped the baby. “She is breathing, looks healthy, and needs a name.” The calf lifted up its head with open dark eyes. “What color is she?” I asked. “Come look,” said Dad. She was messy, but I could tell the calf was a light creamy color with dark brown spots. I instantly knew her name. “She’s so sweet,” I said. “Touch her,” said Dad. I stroked her back. “She’s warm. Like she is fresh from the oven.” “You already picked a name!” said Steve. “Small and tasty,” I teased, “and goes well with milk.” Dad laughed, “That’s good since she’s a dairy cow!” “Tell us!” said Steve. “Her name is Cookie. She looks like a chocolate chip cookie,” I said. “Yummy!” said Dad. “String Bean,” he said, turning to my brother, “go ask your mother to make some cookies.” “Dad, will Cookie be okay?” I asked after Steve left. “Before your mother mixes up that batch of cookies, this Cookie will be standing up and nursing. She’ll be fine. But will you be able to pitch after eating cookies for a month?” “No need to worry about THAT!” I said with a grin.

Storytime Read a story with your child every day of the month. You can read a story together after school, or use the stories for bedtime to help your child go to sleep. (Tell them to close their eyes and see the pictures in their heads!) Rate This Story When you are done reading a story, rate it by filling in the stars found at the end of each story. This will help you remember and see which stories you liked best. Vote Online At the end of each month, go online to www.knowonder.com/vote to vote for your favorite stories. Use the stars as a reference point so you can quickly see which stories you liked best. Remember, voting is important! By voting, you are helping support authors, many of whom would like to have their stories published! The top 3 stories receive cash prizes, but even more importantly, they now have proof that people like their stories, and that makes it even easier to get published. Submit Your Own Stories! If you are one of those parents who tells great stories, and your kids are always begging for more, please send us some of your work! Not only could you become a published author, but you could also win cash prizes! Most importantly, you’ll be giving a gift to thousands of other parents and children who, just like you, love to hear a great story.

Storytime, day 2

The Not-So-Loose Tooth Written by Susan Uhlig

“Timmy,” his dentist said, “This baby tooth must come out. It’s blocking your new tooth. I can take it out now or you can work on it and get it out yourself.” “I’ll work on it.” To show her he meant it, Timmy wiggled the tooth. “That’s fine.” Dr. Vicki smiled and lowered the dental chair. “Is your dad in the waiting room?” Timmy nodded and yanked on the tooth. “Ow!” Dr. Vicki laughed. “You don’t have to get it out this very second. I’ll tell your dad about your baby tooth. He can bring you in Monday if the tooth’s not out by then.” “Ok.” Timmy ran to the big treasure box. He dug through florescent balls, bracelets, small cars, and other plastic toys until he found a fighter jet. Timmy zoomed the jet through the air. “Come on, Timmy. Let’s go,” Dad called. Timmy wiggled his tooth. “What day is today?” “Monday.” “Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.” Timmy counted the days on his fingers. Six days to get my tooth out, he thought. Tuesday at Show and Tell, Timmy showed the jet and told about his baby tooth. “Bite into an apple.” Jeff suggested. “I once had a tooth come off on a sucker,” Monica said. “Have your dad do it,” Bobby said. My dad pulls ‘em out with his pliers.” Timmy said, “My dentist said to work on it myself. If it’s not out by Monday, she’ll take it out.” Five more days. Wednesday, Jeff asked, “Did you try an apple?” Timmy nodded. “Last night. It didn’t work.” He wiggled his tooth a little harder. Four more days.

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From Kansas, USA

Thursday, at recess Bobby asked, “That baby tooth out yet?” Timmy shook his head and wiggled the tooth. “Want me to help?” Bobby made a fist. “I could knock it out.” “No, thanks,” Timmy said as the bell rang. Three more days. He wiggled the tooth harder. Friday, Monica asked, “Did you try a sucker?” Timmy shook his head. Didn’t she know suckers aren’t good for your teeth? Two more days. He wiggled the tooth a lot harder. Saturday, Timmy yanked on the baby tooth. “Ow!” It still didn’t come out. All day Sunday, Timmy wiggled the baby tooth. Monday morning Timmy’s stomach twisted when he thought about the baby tooth. He hoped Dr. Vicki wouldn’t use pliers like Bobby’s dad. At the dentist office, Timmy climbed into Dr. Vicki’s special chair. He looked nervously at the tray of instruments. Which one would she use? Dr. Vicki pulled on her rubber gloves. She picked up the long metal tool she used when checking his teeth. “Let me just take a look at that tooth.” Timmy felt the tool touch the baby tooth and his gums. The metal was cold. “That was easy,” Dr. Vicki said. In her hand she held a small white object. Timmy leaned closer for a better look. “That’s my tooth? It’s out already?” “That’s it.” Timmy’s dentist smiled. “You almost had it out yourself.” She put the tooth in a small envelope and gave it to Timmy. “Thanks for doing such a good job of working on it, Timmy.” “You’re welcome, “ Timmy said and fingered the new gap in his mouth. Now he had something else for show and tell.

Max had his first surgery when he was 3 days old. He’s had holes in his heart repaired and overcame a lung collapse. But you can see hope in Max’s eyes. He’s a

real miracle Children’s Miracle Network is a nonprofit organization that raises funds for more than 170 children’s hospitals. Countless individuals, organizations and media partners unite with Children’s Miracle Network to help sick and injured kids. Donations create miracles by funding medical care, research and education that save and improve the lives of 17 million children each year—children just like Max.

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Storytime, day 3

Scrumdidliumptious Written by Dulcinea Norton-Smith

Sidney Sour and Suki Sweet were the very best of friends. They never argued and they always shared all of their toys. Their parents were very proud of how nicely they played together. Sometimes they played with toys and sometimes they raced on their bikes and scooters but whatever they did they never, ever argued. When Sidney Sour and Suki Sweet were only seven years old they decided they would rather like to live on their own in their very own houses without any grown-ups. Now seven years old may seem a little young to live on your own without a grown-up, but you see, Sidney and Suki were monsters. Real monsters! Suki Sweet was tall and thin and covered in pink fur with orange spots. Sidney Sour was small and round and covered in purple fur with yellow stripes. They decided to build their houses next door to each other. Suki’s house was tall and thin and Sidney’s house was short and round. Life was lovely for Suki and Sidney in their new houses and they played together every day. Then one day Sidney was just brushing his monstery teeth when he heard a knock at the door RAT A TAT TAT! When Sidney opened his front door he found Suki outside. Suki was crying. “What’s wrong, Suki?” asked Sidney with a worried look on his furry purple face.

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From Lancashire, UK

“I have run out of money,” said Suki “How will I buy food and clothes if I don’t have any money?” “Don’t worry, Suki. We will get a job,” said Sidney “Now what can we do?” Suki and Sidney thought of ideas all day long. A lion tamer? No - too scary. A fisherman? No - too wet. A bus driver? No - Sidney and Suki didn’t know how to drive. Suddenly Sidney Sour had a wonderful idea. “Suki, let’s open a candy store,” he said. Suki and Sidney cheered and jumped for joy. “What a brilliant idea,” said Suki. “I love candy. Super, sickly, sticky, gooey, sweet, candy.” “No way!” said Sidney. “We should sell sizzly, solid, fizzy, tingly, sour, candy.” “NO!” shouted Suki in a very grumpy voice. “Candy should be sweet.” “Sour,” shouted Sidney in a loud monster voice. “The best candy is sour!” Well Sidney and Suki argued all night and into the next day. They just couldn’t agree on whether to sell sweet candy or sour candy. Finally Sidney came up with an idea; a monstery grumpy idea. “I don’t care what you do,” he shouted. “I am going to open my very own shop and sell fizzy, SOUR candy”. “Well then. I don’t care what you do,” said Suki in a very sulky

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voice. “I am going to open MY very own shop and sell sticky, SWEET candy” So Suki and Sidney went their separate ways with each one thinking to themselves, “I will never be friends with that monster again. MY shop will be the very best in Monster Town.” The very next day Suki Sweet had a grand opening of Suki Sweet’s Sweetie Sweet Shop. Across the road Sidney Sour had a grand opening for Sidney Sour’s Super Sour Shop. The monsters of Monster Town flooded to Sukis’s shop for her Scrumdidliumptious, Squinchy, Sugar Chews. And the Monsters of Monster Town also flooded to Sidney Sour’s shop for his Triple, Tasty, Tangy, Tongue Twister Chews. For a while both of the shops made a lot of money. After a few weeks Suki realized that she had been selling less and less Scrumdidliumptious, Squinchy, Sugar Chews. Once upon a time the monsters of Monster Town had flooded to the shop to buy ten bags at a time. Now they only seemed to buy five bags at a time. At the same time Sidney sat in his own shop, just across the road, and had the same thought. Once upon a time the monsters of Monster Town had flooded to the shop to buy ten bags of Triple, Tasty, Tangy, Tongue Twister Chews at a time. Now they only seemed to buy five bags at a time. Sidney was puzzled. Suki was puzzled. Did monsters not like sweets anymore? Sidney decided to go out on his scooter so that he could think about his problem. Suki decided to go out on her bike so that she could think about

her problem. As Suki rode her bike through Monster Park she saw two little monsters sitting on a bench. “Have you brought the Scrumdidliumptious, Squinchy, Sugar Chews?” asked one little monster. “Yes. Have you brought the Triple, Tasty, Tangy, Tongue Twister Chews?” asked the other little monster. “Yes” said the first little monster. “Let’s do it” Suki watched them in amazement as the two little monsters picked up a small bucket, poured both bags of sweets into it and shook them up before grabbing a handful each and popping the candy into their mouths with a big smile. Suki was so surprised that she did not look where she was going until BUMP, she ran into something and fell off her bike. She looked at the something and realized that it was Sidney Sour. He had been looking at the little monsters, too, and had fallen off his scooter. “I think my candy is too sweet,” said Suki as she looked at Sidney. “I think my candy is too sour,” said Sidney as he looked at Suki. As they spoke they both broke into huge grins and said in big, happy monstery voices, “LET’S DO IT!” Can you guess what they did? Yes, you are right! They opened the Sweet and Sour Candy Store the very next day and mixed all of their sweets together in one gigantic bucket. So, if you ever happen to meet a monster, you know what they love to eat most. Their favourite treat is a great big bucket of Triple, Tasty, Tangy, Scrumdidliumptious, Squinchy, Sugar, Tongue-Twister Candy Sticks.

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Storytime, day 4

Winter Wishes Written by Ellen Javernick

“Brr,” shivered little Morty Mouse. “The nights are getting colder. Soon the snow will cover the ground and we will have trouble finding food. “ Missy Mouse shivered too. “I wish we had a nice warm spot to spend the winter. “ “We will go in search of one,” said Morty. Together they set off across the field. Their tiny feet crunched the dry leaves. Their breath came out in little smoky puffs. They walked a long time before they came to a house. Morty and Missy had no trouble slipping in through a small crack under the siding. “Shh,” said Missy. “We must not let people hear us or they will set traps.” Morty and Missy needn’t have worried about being quiet because there was no sign of any people living in the house. There were no cereal boxes in the cupboards, no cracker crumbs behind the canisters, no trash in the garage. Not only that. It was cold... almost as cold as outside. “No one lives here,” said Missy.“ This would not be a good home for us.” You’re right. We must find someplace else,” said Morty. So the two little mice set off again. The next house they came to was warm. There seemed to be plenty to eat, but Morty and Missy hadn’t been inside long before they made a dreadful discovery. The family that lived there had a cat! The little mice didn’t even stop long enough for a snack. They scampered back into the cold dark night before the cat spotted them. A little further down the road they came to a house that looked promising. There were lights on everywhere and lots of cars parked out front. There was a dog house in the backyard, a good sign that the family probably didn’t have a cat. Morty and Missy could hear laughter coming from inside the house. “We won’t have to worry about being

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From Colorado, USA

quiet here,” said Morty as they crept into the kitchen through a crack under the sink. From the safety of the cupboard, they listened to some ladies talking. “What a wonderful Thanksgiving,” said one. “Everyone certainly ate a lot!” “I bet there will be lots of scraps,” Morty whispered to Missy. “Shh,” said Missy. “They’re saying something about a wishbone.” “We’ll let it dry on the window sill,” a voice explained. “Then you two young ‘uns can pull it the next time you come. When it breaks, the person with the biggest piece gets his wish.” “I’m going to wish for a bike for Christmas,” said one child’s voice. The mice hoped to hear the other child’s wish but just then someone opened the cupboard door to throw trash into the basket beneath the sink. Morty and Missy scurried to safety beneath the floorboards. Later that evening when the house was quiet, the mice came out to see the wishbone. “We’re so lucky to have found a safe spot to spend the winter,” said Missy. “I bet our field mice friends are wishing they had food and warm houses too.” “Let’s pull the wishbone for them,” said Morty.” If we both wish the same thing our wish is bound to come true.” Morty grabbed one end of the wishbone. Missy grabbed the other. They pulled and pulled, but the wishbone didn’t break. The little mice were puffing and panting when they finally put the wishbone down. Suddenly Missy had a grand idea. “We can make the wish come true ourselves. We can share our good fortune with our friends.” So Morty and Missy invited lots of other mice to join them in their warm winter home. They shared their cookie crumbs and their soft mattress until spring came again.

Storytime, day 5

A Birthday to Remember Written by Julie Musil

What a birthday this will be, Anna thought. She was excited about turning 10 because with each new year she gained a little more freedom. Today it was business as usual though, which meant Anna and her older brother, Zack, had chores to do on their Iowa farm. As she tackled her morning tasks, Anna’s dogs, Dixie and Millie, trailed behind her. Anna had a weakness for strays, and her mom and dad tolerated the extra pets; mostly because they got rid of the field mice. Another stray dog had been roaming their property lately, but would run away scared whenever Anna tried to get close to him. Anna named him Midnight, because of his pitch black coat of fur. At lunchtime, Mom and Dad looked worried while watching the local news on television. Dad warned, “The weather’s turning bad. We might have to spend time in the shelter today.” Not on my birthday, Anna thought. Before the end of their meal, tornado warnings were issued throughout their county. “Lock up the house and head for the shelter,” Dad ordered. They had been through this before. Everyone had their own tasks to perform before meeting in the shelter, located under the floor of their barn, about 100 yards from their house. Soon, the winds howled and cold rain pelted their faces as Anna and Zack ran from their house toward the barn. Looming beyond the barn were dark, angry clouds and what they recognized

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From California, USA

as the beginning of a twister. Dad was already in the barn waiting for them. Mom was behind them, along with Dixie and Millie. “Hurry!” Dad yelled nervously. Through the deafening noise of the wind, Anna heard something strange. She continued to run, but heard it again. She stopped a moment, listening carefully. It was an animal crying, she was positive. Searching the area behind her, she saw something horrible. Midnight was tangled in some wire attached to a fencepost. Immediately, she started running toward the trapped pup. Mom yelled over the noise, “Anna, where are you going? Get to the barn!” “I have to rescue Midnight from the fence,” Anna pleaded, noting the worried look on her mother’s face. She wanted to comfort Mom, but there wasn’t time. Anna shouted, “Zack, please get the wire cutters from Dad,” then turned and rushed toward Midnight. By the time she reached the fencepost, her heart thumped. Midnight was hopelessly tangled in the wire, and had blood oozing from his neck where he had tried to free himself. Anna did her best to comfort him and tug the wires apart enough to pull him out, but with no luck. Midnight was scared, and so was she. The rain pounded and the wind grew stronger. She looked back toward the barn, and knew she didn’t have much time before the tornado was upon them. Soon Mom, Dad and Zack

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arrived with the wire cutters. Anna held Midnight tight as Dad cut the wires. Once Midnight was free they all quickly ran straight toward the shelter. Midnight wiggled in her arms as she ran, but Anna wasn’t about to let him down to run away again. The twister had tightly formed, swirling dirt and debris into the air. Anna struggled to run against the wind. Finally, they made it to the barn. Dad held the trap door to the shelter open for them as one by one they climbed down below the ground to safety. Once inside, Dad latched the door soundly. Then, they waited. Darkness filled the shelter until Dad turned on a flashlight. Anna held Midnight close as he shook with fear; but he wasn’t the only one. Lying at Anna’s feet, Dixie and Millie were shaking too. Anna heard the storm as it rumbled over their shelter. It rattled the door, and rattled her nerves. After the storm passed, Dad unlatched the door of the shelter and cautiously opened it. Slowly, they left the safety of the underground. Outside, an eerie hush surrounded them. What they saw above them was startling: nothing but sky. The barn had ripped apart and vanished. Anna walked around, bewildered. She looked across to where Midnight had been trapped; the fenceposts were gone. Anna had no idea where the fence had been thrown, but she knew she had saved Midnight from certain death. She hugged him tight, grateful he was alive. Anna knew this would be a birthday to remember. She had saved a life, and added to her group of strays. Her barn may be in shreds, but her family was intact. What other gift could she ask for?

Talk Time: Disaster preparedness This story is a great reminder to discuss emergency prepardness with your family. Natural disasters such as violent storms or earthquakes can happen at any time, and without any warning. As a family, sit down together and discuss topics such as: • A meeting place. Where will your family meet if there’s a fire in the house or an earthquake? Choose a place outside the house like a tree in the yard or a mailbox that everyone should meet at. • Have an out-of-state contact designated for family members to report to in case local telephone lines are jammed or down. • Create a 72-hour kit to help your family survive for a few days until help gets there. Include things like flashlights and extra batteries, easily storable food that your family likes, and warm clothes and blankets.

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Storytime, day 6

Mystery in the Attic Written by Angela Lambert-Hustus

Thunk! Cora jumped at the sound and dropped her book, then ran to the kitchen to find her grandmother. “Memé! Did you hear that?” I think it’s coming from the attic. Memé glanced up from fixing her tea. “You’re imagining things, my dear. You’ve been reading too many mysteries.” “But…” “No buts. Now go out and get some fresh air. You’ve been cooped up all morning.” Cora slumped her shoulders and headed outside. She didn’t want to get fresh air. She wanted to peek in the attic, but Memé kept the door locked. Maybe the house had a ghost! Cora sighed. It wasn’t her imagination. She’d heard that noise three times, but Memé didn’t believe her. That was nothing new. Cora marched toward the old tree swing, but couldn’t resist a glimpse at the attic window. She gasped...something moved! She ran back inside the house. “Memé! There’s something…” “Sshh! Can it wait a moment? I’m on the phone.” Feeling miserable, Cora left the kitchen. Only one more day until Mom comes home, she thought. I’m gonna die of boredom in this weird, old house. I’m not allowed to do anything. Cora came to the attic door and paused. She couldn’t resist jiggling the handle. I’m not really doing anything wrong, she told herself. To her surprise, it creaked open about an inch. She peered up the rickety set of stairs. Dust motes floated in

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From Connecticut, USA

light from the window. What would it matter if I just take a look around? Cora pushed the door open and climbed very slowly. A musty smell invaded her nostrils. She winced as the old boards groaned with every step. At the top, she fumbled for the light switch. She flipped it on and sucked in a breath. It was just like one of her mystery books! There were antiques and old photos strewn everywhere. Cora combed through the pictures with delight, but one in particular caught her eye. It was tattered and worn, but something about it looked familiar. The girl looks like me, she thought. It wasn’t her, the picture was too old for that, but the child had the same chestnut hair and green eyes. A pudgy tiger cat snuggled in her arms. Cora flipped over the photo. On the back, faded with time, were the words Rose, aged 9, and Sammy. She stared at the image. The girl was her grandmother! She couldn’t believe it. They looked so much alike. Thunk! Startled, Cora whirled around. “Who’s there?” she cried but nobody answered. It was getting too creepy now. She stuffed the photo into her pocket and turned to leave. Suddenly, something whizzed by her legs and she stumbled. It was….a cat! So that’s what was making all that noise. But how did it get in here? She scanned the attic and found a small opening under the roof. He must have climbed the

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tree and squirmed through the hole. Cora reached out gently to let the cat sniff her hand. When he was close enough, she touched his matted fur but he flinched. He’s so skinny, she thought. Not like the one in the picture. “It’s all right, little guy. I’m not gonna hurt you. You look hungry.” At that moment, Memé called from the kitchen and the cat scattered. “Cora! Lunchtime!” “Okay!” she answered then turned back to the cat. “Hold on, fella. I’ll get you something to eat.” Then she rushed downstairs as quietly as she could. “Where have you been?” Memé asked as soon as she sat down. “I kept calling for you.” Cora kept her eyes on her plate. “Sorry, I guess I didn’t hear you.” She wasn’t hungry. She was too worried about the scrawny cat to eat. Instead, she hid pieces of turkey under the table when her grandmother wasn’t looking. As soon as she could excuse herself, she snuck up to the attic and laid her morsels down for the cat. “Come on out, little fella. I have something for you.” The cat slowly crept out of a shadow, licked the food, and swiftly gobbled it down. Cora reached out to pet him again when he finished. This time he didn’t flinch. What was she going to do with him? She was leaving tomorrow and he couldn’t stay up here forever. “I’ve gotta go now,” she whispered. “Before I get in trouble. But I’ll bring you some more soon, I promise.” Cora thought about the cat all day. She wished that she could take him home, but that couldn’t happen. Pets weren’t allowed in their apartment. After bedtime, Cora snuck down to the kitchen through the dark, planning to bring her new friend some leftover roast beef. As she rummaged through the fridge, the

light flipped on and she shrieked. “I thought I heard something. What are you doing up this late?” her grandmother demanded. “I, um….” Cora stopped. She couldn’t think of any excuses. Besides, she didn’t want to lie, even if she got in trouble. At least the cat wouldn’t be hungry. “I have something to show you.” Silently, she led the way to the attic door and up the stairs. “Careful!” Memé warned. “What on Earth are you doing up here?” “You’ll see.” The cat was waiting eagerly, so Cora set down the roast beef and turned to face her. She knew what was coming. Amazingly, however, Memé was smiling! Still, Cora wanted to explain. “I’m sorry. I knew it was wrong, but…” Memé interrupted. “But you were right all along about the noises.” “Yeah, I guess. But I really am sorry.” “For what?” “You know…coming up here without asking, since you always keep the door locked.” “You’re right, I do. Those stairs are dangerous.” Then oddly enough, her grandmother chuckled. “You thought it was a ghost, didn’t you?” Cora shook her head sheepishly. “You and your mysteries. Silly girl! But you are brave. Now, did I ever tell you about the cat I had when I was young?” “No, but I bet his name was Sammy.” She pulled the old picture from her pocket and looked at her feline friend. “He looks like a Sammy, too.” Memé had tears in her eyes. “He sure does. And I think he’s going to miss you after tomorrow.” Cora felt like bursting. “Does that mean you’re letting him stay?” Memé nodded. “Tell Sammy I’ll be back soon.”

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Storytime, day 7

H.O.R.S.E.

Written by Cynthia Reichrath

It was as though I was floating above the ground. My legs were pumping as fast as I could go, racing for the finish line. I could hear the crowd cheering, “Go! Go!” I looked over my shoulder and saw my twin sister Jenny behind me. Faster, I thought, got to go faster. I felt a strong breeze as Jenny blew past me heading toward the finish line. “NOOOO!” I shouted. Knock, knock, knock...the dream faded. I rolled over and grabbed my glasses off the nightstand. “What?” I said, trying to focus, still groggy from sleep. “It’s me. Can I come in?” Jenny, my sister who is so perfect. She wins at everything, while I lose or come in second place. “Susie? Are you okay?” Jenny asked. “Yeah, come in.” I said with a groan. The last person I wanted to talk to right now was Jenny, but I didn’t want a lecture from Mom later about my attitude. Jenny came in and sat down beside me on the bed. “Hey, wanna go play some basketball?” “No! I just want to be left alone.” I practically shouted at her. Jenny sat and stared at my floor for a while. Once I heard her sniff and wondered if I’d made her cry, but I didn’t really care. I turned my back to her. Finally she got up and left my room. Anger simmered in my chest like hot lava. I felt like I would explode. I got up and paced the room. I looked at my red ribbons that I’d tacked up on my bulletin board. Looking at them just made me more angry. Jenny had tons of trophies in her room from all the events she had won. Jenny was

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good at everything. She always made A’s in school and I had to work hard to get a B. She even got the best prizes in Cracker Jacks. I heard the back door slam and looked out my window. Jenny was in the backyard dribbling the basketball and doing free throws. I laughed when she missed for the third time. Serves her right, I thought. I decided to go outside. “Still mad at me?” she asked when I came out the door. “Hummph.” I grumbled. “Wanna play H.O.R.S.E.?” “Why? You’ll just win like you always do at everything else.” Jenny bounced the ball a few times then threw it to me. “Here, you go first!” she said as she tossed me the ball. I caught the ball, then threw it wildly and the ball easily made the hoop. Jenny grabbed it, eyed the basket and threw. She missed! I glared at her. I didn’t want her to let me win. I wanted to really beat her at this game. I set up for my shot again, and this time I missed. We were even; we both had an H. Jenny walked around the court

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bouncing the ball a few times. She stopped, bent her knees, aimed for the basket and threw the ball. It bounced off the rim. She shrugged her shoulders at me and made an O with her fingers. I did a few running dribbles around the court then threw the ball. It rolled around the rim, then fell in. I was ahead by one point. Jenny grabbed the ball and threw it. It went in. My turn. I threw it wildly, and to my surprise it went in. Jenny picked up the ball, dribbled a few times, then threw. It hit the backboard. Now she had an R. I wasn’t convinced she was playing her best game. I took the ball and dribbled it thoughtfully. “Are you gonna shoot?” Jenny said. “Are you letting me win?” I asked with a snooty voice. “No, honest, I’m not. Basketball just isn’t one of my best sports. I play it because you like it” What? She played basketball because I liked it? That was so cool! I bounced the ball once, then aimed for the basket. It went in easily. Jenny picked up the ball and stood at the free throw line. I could see her concentrating as she lined up the ball with the basket. She threw and it shot up and over the backboard. Now she had an S. I walked over and picked up the ball and dribbled it back. I tossed the ball on the grass and sat down, wiping the sweat from my forehead. Jenny came over and sat beside me. She took a drink from her water bottle, then offered it to me. “Thanks,” I said before I took a long drink. I thought about being angry at her. She was always ready to play games with me. And she never, ever made fun of me for losing; just told me how good I’d played. And last week she helped me study for my Science test and I got an A on it! “So, are you still angry?” asked Jenny. I was quiet for a few minutes. I grinned at her and said, “Naw. Let’s play ball!”

Activity: Play HORSE - Variations HORSE is a great game to play with family and friends. Here are some fun variations you can play to mix it up. • As in the story, make every miss count as a letter, regardless of whether the person before made their shot. Set a minimum boundary for shots, however, like the freethrow line or the 3-point line, so no one shoots just lay-ups. • Play a longer or shorter word. Perhaps if you don’t have as much time, you could play PIG, or if you have more time to fill and want a longer version of the game, play DINOSAUR. • Play in reverse. Start with all the letters and with each miss, you subtract a letter. Better players can start with fewer letters, and younger or more inexperienced players can start with longer words. Above all, HAVE FUN!

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Storytime, day 8

TWYLLA and the TIGER Written by Rolli

When Twylla West was good (which wasn’t very often), her nanny took her to the Metropolitan Zoo. And there they were, one day! The two strolled hand-inhand, wearing red sun-hats. All around them, people were pushing and shoving to get a look at the animals. But the only thing the monkeys and tigers and kangaroos did was lay dozing in the shade, not moving a muscle, like a bunch of STUFFED ANIMALS. Yes, it was very boring. So Twylla let go of Nanny Grindle’s hand (which wasn’t allowed), and ran off into the crowd. “Come back at once!” cried Nanny Grindle, whose fingers were covered with warts. So of course Twylla only ran faster. “If you don’t stop, there’ll be no kisses at bedtime!” cried Nanny Grindle, whose teeth were sharp like scissors. Twylla had no choice but to leap right over people’s heads, like a kangaroo. “I’m going to tell!” sobbed Nanny Grindle, who blew her long nose on a spotted handkerchief. Twylla found herself trapped in front of the monkey cage. The old woman was getting closer and closer, so the girl had no choice but to grab hold of the bars, and start climbing up the cage. She was so happy when she made it to the top that she danced about, just like a monkey. “Look at me, I’m Nanny

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Grindle!”she shouted to the crowd below. At first the monkeys laughed— and then everybody else did. “I can’t bear this any longer!” screamed Nanny Grindle, pulling at her hair. She climbed up the monkey cage, lifted Twylla high over her head, and threw the poor child into the tiger pit. I’m sorry to say a big fat beast swallowed her— gulp!—just like that. THE END

Of course I’m only joking. The tiger really did swallow her, but that wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning. When Twylla found herself in the tiger’s belly, the first thing she did was check herself all over, to be sure there were no pieces missing. Lucky for her, this tiger never listened to his mother, and swallowed things without chewing them properly. The second thing she did was look around. “The inside of a tiger,” she said

to herself, “is a lot like a hotel room.” There was a small lamp on a desk, and two beds that didn’t look at all comfortable. Over in the corner sat a shiny black telephone. Oh yes—and there were three doors, each a different colour. I musn’t forget that. Just when Twylla began to wonder what on earth she’d do to pass the time, the telephone rang. She let it ring 3 or 4 times, to see if anybody else would answer it. When nobody did, she picked the phone up herself. “Hello? Really? That door, there? The red one? Well, alright.” She hung up the phone, walked over to the red door, and opened it up. Out sprang a very little boy, who cried, “Sister, you saved me!” and rushed into her arms. “Rodney?” she gasped. “But I thought you were kidnapped by Eskimos.” “No,” said the little boy, “That’s just what Nanny Grindle told you. She really fed me to this tiger. I think she might be a witch.” The poor child shook from head to toe. Well, Rodney had been missing a year, and as you can imagine the two had a lot to catch up on. But while they were both jumping up and down on the bed, the phone rang again. “Hello?” said Twylla, picking it up after the second ring this time. “Really? That door there? The blue one? Well, alright.” She hung up the phone, walked with her little brother to the blue door, and opened it up. Out popped a medium-sized boy, who shouted, “Sister, what a surprise! And brother, how you’ve grown.” He shook them both by the hand. “Philip?” she gasped. “But I thought you fell off the china cabinet, and broke into 17 pieces.” “Oh no,” he said, shaking his

finger. “That’s just what Nanny Grindle told you. She really fed me to this tiger. She’s probably a witch, you know.” Well, Philip had been missing 2 years, so, as you can guess, they had a whole lot to catch up on. But while they were all giggling and jumping from one bed to the other, the phone rang yet again. “Hello?” said Twylla, picking it up right away this time. “Really? That door there? The yellow one? Well, alright.” She hung up the phone, walked with her two brothers over to the yellow door, and opened it. Out stepped a very big boy, with a beard, who said, “Do you mind? Who on earth are you people?” He shook his head, and said, “The name’s Netherby, by the way.” Twylla, Rodney, and Philip stood there, not saying a word. First of all, they were too surprised. Second of all, they had no idea who he was, either. “Oh wait,” said Netherby. “You all look a lot like mother and father. I’ll bet you’re my little brothers and sisters, who I’ve never met. And I bet you’ve been swallowed by a tiger, just as I was 20 years ago. I expected this would happen. You’ve figured out Nanny Grindle’s a witch, I hope?” Twylla nodded her head, and said, “Yes—but a bit too late, I’m afraid. And now there’s no way to get out.” “Ridiculous,” said Netherby, lighting his pipe. “There’s always one very good way of getting out of a tiger’s belly. You take the elevator.” There was an elevator close by, you see—only no one had noticed it. They all squeezed in, and stared at the buttons, which were numbered 1 to 46. “Which button do we press?” asked Rodney. “One, of course,” said Netherby,

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Storytime, day 8 continued

crossly. “What about all these other buttons?” asked Philip. “Never mind those!” snapped Netherby. Twylla pushed the button, and in no time all four of them were back outside. They climbed out of the tiger-pit as quickly as they could. “What do we do now?” wondered Twylla, out loud. “Well, I’m buying a newspaper,” said Netherby. “I suppose you can do what you like.” And off he went. The other three sat about, wondering what would happen next. For a while they watched the old zoo-sweeper, cleaning up papers and cups and peanut shells. It was very dull. But they weren’t bored long! For who should come bounding ’round the corner but Nanny Grindle, licking a gigantic ice-cream cone. Her tongue was so very long, not to mention green, that it could twirl ’round all three scoops of banana-slug ice cream (a witch’s favourite flavour). But when she saw Twylla, she shook so badly that the top scoop fell— plop—onto the ground. When she saw Rodney she shook so very badly that the second scoop fell ,too. And when she saw Philip, the last scoop leaped onto the ground—splot—and joined the rest. It was a terrible mess. Just when the old zoo-sweeper was about to clean it up, Nanny Grindle grabbed his broom, put it between her legs, and shrieked, “So, you’ve figured it out! Well, just try to stop me now, on my magic broom!” And off she flew, laughing madly. HE HE HE HEEEEEEEEEEE! The old zoo-sweeper itched his moustache, looked up into the sky, and said, “Oh no, miss. T’aint a magic broom, just a reg’lar one. It

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sweeps up papers, and cups, and peanut-shells like magic, I s’pose— but t’aint a magic broom at all.” “Really?” gasped Nanny Grindle. The old zoo-sweeper was right. Down she fell—eeeeeee—out of the sky—aaaaaaaa—and right into the tiger-pit, where a big fat beast stuffed her into its jaws. “Now, Bengy, be sure to chew that up carefully, like a good creature,” said the Mother Tiger. “Oh, all right,” grumbled her son—and he did. And that was the end of Nanny Grindle. As for the children, they all skipped home, eating cotton candy. Mother and Father were happy to see them, of course, and in a short while life was back to normal. Every morning, Twylla and Rodney would play together for an hour, and fight for two. Philip would roll his eyes, and call them “oh so childish.” And as for Netherby, he’d put on his suit and tie, and go off to work. One last thing to make this a happy ending. The children all saved up their money, and bought the old zoo-sweeper a new broom— because the last one broke into 17 pieces when it landed. After he thanked them, and took hold of it, the old fellow suddenly flew off into the sky, screaming. Because this one really was a magic broom. I have no idea what happened to the poor man. THE END (I really mean it this time)

Heres just what EVERY MOM needs:

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Storytime, day 9

Grandpa’s Not Alone Written by Pat St. Pierre

Today Mama and I are going to visit Grandpa in his new house. I hold Mama’s hand as we walk on the sidewalk and enter a big red brick building. As we walk down the hallway, my sneakers start to squeak. I see a lot of old people, some walking with canes and others sitting in wheelchairs. My stomach starts to hurt a little. Next I see a lot of ladies wearing green dresses and pushing carts. “Why are all these ladies pushing carts, Mama?” I ask. “These ladies are nurses and they’re bringing medicine and juice to everyone who lives here,” she replies. “But don’t nurses work in hospitals and doctor’s offices?” “Yes, they do, but they also work in places like this. Grandpa lives here with a lot of people his own age. He isn’t as strong as he used to be, so he can’t live alone anymore. He needs somebody to help him bathe, to prepare his meals, and to give him his medicine. That’s what these nurses do.” I squeeze Mama’s hand a little tighter now because I’m getting scared. We walk past a large room with tables. People are sitting at the tables singing “Happy Birthday.” “They’re having someone’s birthday today,” says Mama. “Here we are, room 225.” Mama enters the room and

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goes over to Grandpa, who is sitting in a chair. She kisses his cheek. I hear Grandpa say, “Where’s my grandson, Peter?” I peek out from behind Mama. Grandpa looks just the same. “There’s my boy,” says Grandpa. With that, I shout, “Hi, Grandpa,” and I run and jump into his lap. “Well, well,” says Grandpa, “welcome to my new home. Would you like to go for a walk? I want you to meet my friend, John.” We leave Grandpa’s room and walk down a long hall. Grandpa takes Mama and me into a TV room and he introduces us to his friend. “Hi,” says John. I notice that John is sitting in a wheelchair and so I hold onto Grandpa’s arm. “John is an artist,” says Grandpa. “Maybe when you come to visit next time he can

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Visit Family: Visiting your Grandparents in a nursing home show you his paintings.” “I sure can,” smiles John. Next Grandpa takes us all around the building. He shows us a small library and the big dining room where the birthday celebration is taking place. Then we go outside to the flower garden. “It’s nice here,” says Grandpa. “We play cards in the afternoon and have bingo games in the morning. We have singalongs and we see movies. They take good care of us here.” “But Grandpa, what about the nurses?” I ask. “That’s why they call it a nursing home,” says Grandpa. “It’s a special kind of home. It’s for people like me who can’t live alone anymore.” “But don’t you miss your old home, Grandpa?” I ask. “Well yes, I did at first, but I’ve made new friends. I’m getting used to not living alone.” I hold Grandpa’s hand and he smiles. “This is my grandson,” he says to everyone sitting around the flower garden. “Aren’t you lucky to have him visit,” I hear one woman say. “Yes, I am,” Grandpa answers. Grandpa’s new home is different. It’s not like I thought it would be. But Grandpa hasn’t changed. He’s still the same Grandpa.

Grandparents in nursing homes can be lonely, in spite of being surrounded with other people and activities. Use these tips to let your elderly grandparents (or greatgranparents!) know that you care: 1) Make regular phone calls. Set a reminder in your computer’s calendar or or leave yourself a note. Find things to laugh about and keep them involved with what’s going on in your family. 2) Visit regularly. If the nursing home is within easy driving distance, make it a point to visit on a regular basis. Knowing that you’re coming can brighten someone’s entire day, even if you’re only there for a few minutes. 3) Ask about their family history. Grandparents love to tell stories. Make a list of questions about what life was like when they were young, where they went to school, and what their parents were like. Take notes and compile a family history scrapbook. 4) Assemble a care package for your grandparent. Ask if there’s anything in particular they need and be sure to include it. Be sure to include small thoughtful items that they may not mention, like a favorite treat or magazine. If possible, deliver the package in person.

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Storytime, day 10

A Matching Pair Written by Ronnee Nelson

“Your baby brother is cute,” Marcie told Jen one day, as she was helping her in the school library. “When did you see him?” Jen asked. “I saw your Mom at the mall. She had Timmy in his stroller.” She paused. “Jen, does it bother you that he doesn’t look like you?” “No, of course not,” Jen answered, but she knew deep in her heart that she did mind. She also knew she had never voiced that to another living soul. Jen was adopted. Her Mom had often told her the story of the long airplane ride to China and back, and how her first American food was Cheerios. Jen loved the story and asked to hear it many times. But things had changed after her adorable brother Timmy came. He was blond-haired and blueeyed. Jen, by comparison, had black hair and almond shaped eyes that always closed when she gave someone a big smile. Jen wasn’t jealous of Timmy -- she just wanted to look like him. She loved being his big sister. But maybe others were thinking what Marcie thought, and that troubled Jen. Later that week, Jen approached Marcie with an idea. “Marcie, would you help me do something strange?” “Sure,” said Marcie, “What are you doing?” “Promise you won’t say anything?” pleaded Jen. “I promise,” Marcie answered. “No,” said Jen. “You really have to swear not to tell.”

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“Why?” Marcie insisted. Jen proceeded to tell Marcie her plan. The next time they were at the mall with Jen’s mom, Marcie was to slip away near the drugstore and buy a hair dye kit for Jen in the blondest shade she could find. With her hair dyed blonde, Jen knew she would look more like her family, and that thought pleased her. “You’re crazy!” said Marcie. Jen didn’t blink. “I want your help because I can’t do this alone.” “Why do you want to do something so weird? Your hair looks great,” Marcie added. “I just do! If you must know, I want to look like Timmy and my mom and dad. Since I can’t change my eyes, the hair has got to go,” said Jen. After much persuasion Marcie finally agreed to help. The girls would try the dye on Jen’s hair when they studied together after school. When the time came to do their homework, both girls pored over the hair dye directions as they mixed the two bottles from the kit. “This smells awful,” commented Marcie. “It sure is a gooey mess,” said Jen. “Put it on quickly before I change my mind.” When the sticky cream covered Jen’s hair, Marcie put a plastic cap over it and then a towel. Soon it was time for the towel to come off. Both girls looked in the mirror and screamed at the top of their lungs! “AAAAAAAAH!” yelled Marcie. “AAAHH!” wailed Jen. Instead

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of beautiful blonde hair, the dye had changed Jen’s hair into a neon looking BRIGHT ORANGE. Jen’s hair was ORANGE - not blonde at all! There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Is everything OK?” inquired Jen’s mom. The door finally opened and Jen stood there with orange hair. Both girls began to wail. Finally, through a puddle of tears, Jen began to explain. “I wanted to do something to make me look like Timmy’s real sister, but it didn’t work. It was all my idea and I asked Marcie to help me,” she said. “Oh Jen,” her mother began, “you are Timmy’s real sister. Someday Timmy will want to be just like you -- not because of your hair color, but because you are smart and loving. You’re the very best big sister he could ever have.” Jen was silent. Her mother’s words meant a lot to her. Why had she thought this crazy idea would change anything? “Now, I had better call my hairdresser and see if she can do anything to help my carrot top daughter!” exclaimed her mom. True to her word, the next day Jen’s mom took her to the hairdresser who cut her hair short so there was less orange to see. “Can we make a stop on our way home?” Jen asked her mom. With her allowance money in her pocket, she ran into the Baby Shop and was back in a flash. When she showed her mom what she’d bought, her mom smiled. On Saturday while she was strolling with Timmy, Jen saw Marcie walking her dog. Marcie ran to her. “Jen,” she said, “you did it! That new orange baseball cap of Timmy’s makes you a matching pair!”

Talk Time: Subject: Adoption Adoption can change a family in many ways. Whether it is the addition of a new baby born to a family with an adopted child, or the adoption of a child into a family with one or more children already in the home, the following tips can be helpful in making the transition a smoother event for everyone. • Make adoptive children understand that they hold a special place in your lives and that is why you brought them home in the first place. • Understanding individuality and treating children as an individual is crucial. Help children understand that they have different privileges and responsibilities, because they are different individuals. • Avoid labeling or comparing one child to the other, or else it will lead them into competition. • Plan frequent family activities. This way you can enhance positive interactions among your children both natural and adoptive. • Above all, parents need to spend time with each one of the children. Maintaining special connections with each child is essential. Adapted from http://www.iloveindia.com/parenting/ adoptive-parenting/natural-adoptive-siblings.html

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Storytime, day 11

The Cow Milker Written by Hanna C. Howard

Raina woke early, as she always did, to milk the royal cows. Stumbling down the hall of the servants’ wing of the castle, and vainly rubbing her eyes to stop them from drifting shut, she tied her hair back, rolled up the sleeves of her gown, and yawned so hugely she almost tripped. It was too early. Why these cows needed milking at such an hour, she would never understand. But to milk them was her job, and it gave her food, clothes, and a bed to sleep in, so she couldn’t complain. “Hello, Josephine!” she greeted the cow whose head was already extended into the aisle of the barn when she entered. Another long face appeared, and lowed impatiently. “I know, I know,” Raina sighed. “Wilma, don’t be so pushy.” She found her stool and pail and set to work, falling into a hypnotic rhythm as the steaming milk hissed into the bucket. She had not yet filled half a pail for the third cow when she heard footfalls approaching. She spun around in time to see a young boy sprint into the barn, his cap in his hands and a look of intense worry on his face. He doubled over, panting for breath, and gasped, “Lady… please… help…” Forgetting the cows, Raina sprang up and hurried to crouch before the boy so she could see his face. “What? What’s the matter?” The boy took a huge breath and looked at Raina. His face was very white. “It’s…my master. He’s

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wounded…in the woods…” Raina immediately crossed to the tack-room where there was a bucket of well-water and a pile of old rags. She seized both and hurried for the door. “Show me,” she ordered the boy. She did not see the injured man at first, so hidden was he by dense yew branches. Then he croaked, “Good work, George,” and she followed the sound of his voice. He was sprawled on the ground with one leg bent up toward him, and the other lying flat with a ripped trouser-leg and more blood than Raina would have ever liked to see. She knelt beside him and was surprised once more. He was young—not very much older than she was! His face was handsome and pleasant, and despite its being tight with pain, there was a jovial glint in his eyes. “My lady,” he said, nodding respectfully. “Have you come to fix me?” Raina smiled weakly. “I am no healer, sir. But I will try my best.” “You have my full confidence,” he assured her. She swallowed and turned to fetch her things. Three-quarters of an hour and a heap of soiled rags later, Raina helped the young man stand, having cleaned and bound his wound to the best of her abilities. “What happened?” she asked him as they hobbled slowly across the clearing, Raina straining under his weight. “Well,” he grunted, clearly

straining a bit himself, “George and I were riding, hoping to reach your kingdom by sunrise, and perhaps going a little faster than we should have in such limited light. My horse stumbled on a fallen log and pitched to the side—and in the process, threw my leg against a tree. I fell off, George ran to get you, and you healed me.” Raina laughed, protesting, “But I didn’t heal you—” “My name is John, by the way,” he interrupted, shaking his head as if he wouldn’t hear a word against her healing skills. “John of Penland.” “I’m Raina,” she replied, giggling. “Raina of the Barn. And I had better get you into more skilled care.” Since John could not climb back into the saddle, they set off at a walk, Raina supporting him, and George leading the horses behind. On the course of their journey, Raina discovered that John was a representative of the Prince of Penland himself, having come to choose a future Princess of Penland. When at last they reached the castle, she nervously requested an audience with the King and Queen. The monarchs were solemn and imposing people. Raina would have trembled with anxiety had she not been holding up a young man much taller and heavier than herself. After the story had been repeated to them, however, the King and Queen warmed considerably. “On behalf of the prince!” said the Queen, with a smile. “We must call our daughters.” “Not yet, dearest,” the King said, nodding to John’s bandaged leg. “First we must see this young knight properly taken care of.” He snapped his fingers at a serving woman in the corner. “Hilda, show this man to a bedroom, and fetch the nurse. And you—” he pointed at Raina. “You must make sure our

young knight has everything he needs.” John looked apologetically at Raina. “Your Highness, that won’t be—” “Nonsense,” the King interrupted. “That’s what she’s here for. She has nothing better to do.” Raina felt her cheeks burn, and she ducked her head so no one would see. Two tall men appeared, each taking one of John’s arms, and carried him out of the hall, leaving Raina to trail hesitantly after them. She was mortified to have been treated so carelessly by her king— the king she had served her entire life, but who apparently did not know so much as her name. And yet, she was strangely grateful for the chance to see more of John. “Lady Raina,” said John once he was settled, having been given a bed, proper treatment, food, and something to drink. “Will you come tell me a story?” He looked at her with glinting eyes. She smiled and drew her chair to the side of his bed. “What about?” she asked. “About you. Tell me a story from your life.” “But I’m a servant,” she protested. “I milk cows.” “Then tell me about that,” he insisted. “Please?” So she did. Raina told John story after story at his request, until her throat was hoarse from speaking, her stomach sore from laughing—and her heart warm from the joy of companionship. But at noon, a sharp rap on the door announced the arrival of the five princesses, come to impress the prince’s knight. Raina stepped back into the corner, inconspicuous in the shadows. “Oh, Sir,” gushed Frilda, the eldest of the daughters, when she entered. “Your poor leg! How it

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Storytime, day 11 continued

grieves me to see such a noble knight so injured.” She smiled sweetly down at John, and gave his bandages an inexpert pat. “Good Knight, we must take your mind off the horrible pain,” announced Thaldine, the third sister. “Do tell us all about your prince.” “Is he handsome?” squeaked Fipya, the youngest. “Devilishly handsome,” replied John gravely. “Is he rich?” whispered Sepleah, the second daughter. “Indeed.” “Is he powerful?” demanded Foupalie, the fourth princess. “He is,” replied John, the gleam gone from his eyes. Raina thought his voice sounded cold and polite. “But now, please—do tell me more about yourselves. My prince will want to hear all about you.” And so they did. The princesses jabbered on and on about themselves, often shouting over one another to be heard. By their own declarations, Raina learned that Sepleah was the smartest of them all, but that Foupalie had the best taste, Fipya was the sweetest, and Frilda and Thaldine were both the most beautiful. Just listening to them made Raina so exhausted she wanted to sit down. When they were gone, John sank back into his pillows with a tremendous sigh, and Raina began to collect the trinkets the princesses had each left for John to give the prince. “Will he be more pleased with this vial of perfume,” she began in mock-earnestness, “Or with this gilded fan?” She flipped the fan out and held it in front of her face, peering at John over the ridged top. As she hoped he would, he laughed, running a hand through his sandy hair and mussing it all up. “Raina, I think the prince would be most pleased with you.” Raina frowned, her heart

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suddenly feeling very thick and heavy in her chest. She didn’t want to marry a prince—no matter how handsome, rich, and powerful he may be. She would rather be with someone like John, someone kind, and funny, and fun to be around. The thought made her blush, so she turned away to stack the gifts on the nightstand. “I’ve made my decision,” he said quietly. “Will you help me walk to the throne room?” “You’ve chosen one?” she asked incredulously. “I have. Help me?” Once again supporting John, and feeling horrible that he would be leaving as abruptly as he’d come, Raina staggered to the throne room with a heavy heart. “I’ve made my choice,” John announced to the king and queen. Looking as eager as children being offered candy, the rulers summoned their daughters and bade John continue. “Which of my daughters do you choose?” asked the queen impatiently. “None,” answered John. “What? But the prince—!” “I am the prince,” John replied, “And I would marry none of your daughters.” Stunned silence consumed the room. Raina felt her body go numb. She could not think. “I have chosen a wife, however,” John continued, his voice suddenly warmer. “I would marry Raina, the cow-milker, if she would have me.” “Who?” the king boomed. “A girl you have—incredibly— overlooked for many years.” John slowly knelt before her. “Marry me, Raina? You’ll never have to milk another cow again.” Raina smiled, and took John’s hand. “Yes—of course. But if I wanted to, could I milk the cows in Penland?” He laughed jubilantly. “They would be honored.”

Storytime, day 12

Are You a Moose or a Mouse? Written by Carolyn Mott Ford

Myron nosed among the wild flowers growing under the trees. Another big moose came along. It looked at Myron. “What are you doing?” “Smelling the wild flowers,” said Myron. The big moose rubbed his antlers on a tree. “You should be sharpening your antlers,” he said. “You will need sharp antlers to fight.” “My antlers are sharp enough for now,” said Myron. He continued to smell the wild flowers. The big moose shook his head. “Are you afraid to fight? What are you? Are you a moose or a mouse?” “I do not think I am a mouse,” said Myron. Myron wandered over by the creek. He splashed into the cool water. Then he floated. It was so peaceful. Myron closed his eyes and let the water carry him. Another big moose was on the bank of the creek. He was stripping bark from a tree. His sharp teeth pulled at the strips. Then he chewed the bark. He looked at Myron. “What are you doing?” “I am floating with the water,” said Myron. “You should be stripping the bark from the trees,” said the big moose. “Chewing the bark will make you strong. You will have to be strong to chase enemies through the woods.” “I am strong enough for now,” said Myron. He continued to float in the water. “Are you afraid to chase 38

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enemies? What are you? Are you a moose or a mouse?” “I do not think I am a mouse,” said Myron. Myron climbed up the mountainside. He came to a gap in the rocks. He looked up at the sky. The clouds floated by. Some of the clouds were shaped like animals. Myron made up stories about the animals in the clouds. A third big moose came along. He jumped across the gap in the rocks. He looked back at Myron. “Why don’t you jump? Are you a moose or a mouse?” Myron sighed. He was tired of that question. He started to wonder. “Maybe I am a mouse?” Myron clumped down the mountainside. He stopped at a deserted old cabin. Mice scampered around the front porch. Myron stepped up onto the porch. The old porch creaked and groaned. The mice ran into the woodpile. All but one mouse. He looked at Myron. “Who are you? What do you want?” “My name is Myron and I want to find out if I am a moose or a mouse.” “A moose or a mouse?” said the mouse. “Well, you don’t look like a mouse to me. But you can hang out with us for a while.” Myron stayed with the mice. He could not scamper. He tried to climb into the woodpile. Wood scattered all over the porch. He ate dinner with the mice. “Excuse me,” said the mouse. “I

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think you are eating too much.” Myron looked around. The mice were nibbling. He was chomping. He had to be careful not to eat all the food. The mice had a party. “Ugh,” said Myron. “What is this yellow stuff? It sticks in my teeth.” That is when Myron discovered that he did not like cheese. One day the mouse said, “We smell a cat. A cat is nearby in the woods.” “What should I do?” asked Myron. “Stay here,” said the mouse. “Give two squeaks if the cat shows up.” Myron rubbed his antlers on a tree. They would be sharp if he had to fight. He stripped bark from another tree. Then he sat down to chew. He would be strong if he had to chase an enemy. The cat came out of the woods. He slipped quietly up onto the porch. Myron saw him creeping toward the woodpile. Myron opened his mouth. He tried to squeak. He could not. He tried again. He just could not squeak. The cat was ready to pounce into the woodpile. Myron jumped up. The cat was startled. It looked at Myron’s sharp antlers. The cat took off racing toward the woods. Myron ran after the cat. He was strong from eating bark. The cat came to a gap in the rocks. It leaped high into the air. It jumped across. Myron stopped for a minute. He looked down into the deep gap. Then he shook himself. He was not afraid. He leaped across the gap. He chased the cat until it was too far away to bother the mice ever again. Myron went back to the old cabin. “I’m glad you scared away the cat,” said the mouse. “But you

did not squeak.” “I can’t squeak,” said Myron. “Well, then,” said the mouse. “If you can’t squeak, you are definitely not one of us. You are not a mouse.” Myron looked at the mice scampering across the porch. Grey furry mice. Tiny quick creatures. “You are right,” he said. “I am not a mouse.” “But you are our friend,” said the mouse. “You can come back anytime you wish.” Myron climbed back up the mountain. He nosed the wild flowers. He floated in the creek. He watched the clouds. “Are you a moose or a mouse?” asked a big moose. “I am a moose,” said Myron. “A moose who likes wild flowers. A moose who likes to float in the creek. A moose who can sharpen his antlers and strip bark from trees. A moose who is not afraid to leap across a gap in the rocks” “And,” he added. “a moose who can see a story in the clouds.”

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Storytime, day 13

The Magic of Music Written by Kathryn B. Hull

I was alone again on the playground. The girls in my class didn’t talk to me, and I felt too shy to talk to them. I know I wasn’t as pretty as some of them, but I didn’t look too bad. Why don’t they like me, I wondered. And I’d ask my mother, “Why do the boys always tease me?” She’d answer, “Because they like you. That’s the way boys are.” I really didn’t believe that. Schoolwork was something I always tried to do well. I thought if I got good grades, the kids might like me. Not so. Just because I got nearly all A’s, they teased me and said I was teacher’s pet. And then there was P.E., always one of the worst times of the day. In P.E. class they had one of those games where there were two captains and they had to pick their team. Well, again I was the last one to be chosen. And that didn’t mean I was chosen; I was just the only one left, so I had to go on the B team. The worst part was when Tad, the class smart kid, teased me with, “Fatty, fatty, two by four, can’t get through the kitchen door.” Well, I may be a little overweight, but I’m not fat. I can run and climb, and ride a bicycle just as well as anybody. And there’s something I can do better than anybody in the class, but I’ve never told them. I was in my first year at the new school and I hadn’t made any good friends yet. Everyday after school I hurried home where I could make music that made me feel good. There were so many beautiful

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pieces. Some were happy, some sad, some mysterious, some playful. There was always one that expressed exactly how I felt. Without the music I would have felt lonely, but music made me happy and let me say what I wanted to. It was like having a best friend. There was one day when I got very upset with my mother. I was never allowed to talk back to her, so I just went to the living room and played the loudest music I could find. Mother thought I was practicing, but really I was shouting at her. It made me feel better and soon I wasn’t upset at her anymore. I also found how to get out of doing the dishes after dinner—go practice. I got out of lots of work that way. Of course, it made my older sister angry, but I didn’t care. I loved to make music. Nearly every day I practiced ‘til I was tired, then I rode my bicycle ‘til I was tired, went back to practicing, then the bike again. That was the way I spent most of my time on weekends and after school. No one ever asked me to go any place with them, like to the movies. But it’s okay. I don’t need them, I said to myself. One morning I walked into the classroom and there was the most beautiful piano I had ever seen. Some of the kids were punching the keys, making terrible sounds, and trying to show The Magic of Music what little they knew. As the teacher walked in she said, “Enough of that noise. This instrument is here to be used only by those who know how to play it.”

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The students took their seats quietly, and the teacher asked, “Is there any one of you who really knows how to play the piano? Who has been taking lessons?” No one raised a hand. “I think there is one of you who does know how to play, and quite well, too, from what I’m told.” No one said a word, and I just looked down at my hands. I wanted to shout, “Yes, I do,” but what would the other kids say? “Agnes, would you like to play something for us?” she asked. I felt my face turn red as I nodded my head. How did she know, I wondered. “So come up here, and you can be the first one to play this lovely new piano.” Keeping my eyes on the floor, I slowly walked to the front of the room while the kids snickered. Tad taunted, “Yeah, fatty, show us your stuff.” I sat down on the shiny, black bench trying to ignore his remark. “Do you know where middle C is?” asked another. “Maybe you can teach us. Ha, Ha.” This would be the first time I would play on a big, black grand piano. The white keys looked like a row of teeth smiling at me as I put my hands on them. I began to play a Chopin waltz and immediately I forgot about the kids in the room. All I thought about was the happy dance music with the singing melody that came from the beautiful instrument. The Magic of Music carried me, like a dream, into another world where people were happy, kind to one another, and where life was filled with music and dance. Pictures of my classmates playing with me floated through my mind. When the piece came to an end, I didn’t want to stop playing but I had to because the kids clapped so loud, shouting, “All right! Wow! Play it again! More,

more!” It was the first time they had ever clapped for me. I smiled and played another piece. Then another by my favorite composer, Beethoven, and then one by Bach. I could hear the whispers behind me. “Who would have guessed she could play like that?” “How does she do it?” “I wish I could play like that.” And Tad’s voice saying, “She’s good!” I stopped only because the teacher said we really had to get to work on our studies. Everyday after that, I was asked to play something for the class before we began our work. Sometimes I could play again if we finished early. Because I taught them how to find middle C, I gained the nickname “CeCe.” I liked that because I always hated the name Agnes. But the best part was that the kids began talking to me as if I was someone special. I had known all along that I was special.

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Storytime, day 14

For Jesse’s Sake Written by Nancy Bell

“We will not fall, we will go clean.” Anna repeated over and over. She leaned forward to lay her hand on Jesse’s gleaming black neck. “Falling off was last show, Jesse.” Anna’s voice shook with fear and excitement. Anxiously Anna glanced at her dad leaning on the rail of the hitching ring. She forced her stiff lips to smile and gave him a jaunty thumbs up. “We can do this Jesse. We have to,” Anna whispered. “I can’t lose you. You’re not too old.” After Anna’s last show, during which she and Jesse had a taken a bad fall at a big triple bar jump, her dad had threatened to sell Jesse. Her dad thought that Jesse was too old and not safe for Anna. Anna had tried to tell her dad that it was her fault. She had misjudged the take off and Jesse had tried to jump from too far back. Anna’s stomach lurched badly as she remembered the sickening sound of splintering rails and the sight of Jesse’s legs tangled in the jump. Anna and Jesse had been a team for three years, ever since Anna had turned nine. Sixteen years was not too old to be a jumper. Especially when that horse was Jesse. “Don’t think about it,” Anna muttered to herself. She rode Jesse over to the posted jump-off course. There were seven jumps on the higher, shorter course. Anna knew them all, and there it was. Jump number five. The triple bar. It was the same jump she had put Jesse into wrong. Jesse shook his head as if he, too, remembered the jump. Anna checked the order for the jump-off and saw that she

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was close to the end. “Well Jesse, at least we’ll know what we have to beat.” Jesse snorted softly in agreement as they moved out into the sandy warm-up ring. Anna smiled as she let Jesse swing into his long easy trot. She gathered him up a bit as she approached the corner and picked up a canter. Jesse took the practice jump in an easy leap. She slapped his neck in appreciation. The sun was high in the sky and sweat trickled down Anna’s back under her black show jacket. Anna transferred her reins into one hand and used the back of her other hand to wipe the wetness from her forehead. She felt in her pocket for her sunglasses - Anna knew from watching the horses that went before her that the sun was shining on the big plate glass windows of the private boxes that lined the show ring. The glare of the reflected light interfered with the line of sight as the horse and rider came across the diagonal line of jumps. Anna settled the glasses firmly on her nose and gathered her reins in two hands again. Anna touched Jesse with her heels and took him over a line of fences that included a triple bar. She allowed herself a small smile as she pulled Jesse up at the end of the warm-up ring and slapped his neck lightly in reward. “Okay, Jesse. Let’s go show Dad!” The thought of losing Jesse made Anna’s stomach twist painfully. Then Anna forced the thought away and concentrated on the course. Anna’s dad waited at the gate to the hitching ring. “Be careful!” he

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said as he handed her a bottle of water. Anna gratefully took a quick drink of the cool liquid and handed the bottle back to her dad. Anna’s dad wiped the dust from her boots and cleaned the foam from Jesse’s bit and muzzle. Anna took a big breath. Of the fourteen riders in front of her, only one had gone clear. Anna and Jesse had to go clear and fast. Anna grinned to herself - That’s all! Jesse halted as Anna saluted the jumper jury. Then they were off! Anna felt the rhythm of Jesse’s stride through her seat and hands. Straight to the first vertical, then over and on to the oxer. Anna smiled in excitement. It was just her and Jesse and the jumps in front of them. The oxer was huge, with a four foot spread. Jesse pricked his ears straight forward and surged toward the obstacle. With a powerful push from his hindquarters Jesse carried Anna safely over. The third jump had an easy line into it and Anna let Jesse come to the fence with little interference. As Anna guided Jesse toward the fourth fence, she caught the smell of the flowers decorating the base of the jump. Then she concentrated on the fence in front of them. Jesse tucked his knees and his hocks up under himself and sailed over. Together they turned heart and soul for the fifth jump. The triple bar. Anna counted the strides in her head, no mistake this time. For Jesse’s sake she must be right. Fear made her heart pound a little harder, and Anna felt her teeth stick to her lips as she whispered to Jesse. Sweat itched the back of her hands inside her gloves, and her breath caught in her throat as Anna concentrated on her take-off point. She had to get them over the triple bar. Jesse rose straight and true, and then the triple bar was behind them. Anna turned sharp and cut the

corner to the next fence to save time. Up and over, one more to go. Anna and Jesse dashed to the last fence, she settled him back a bit three strides out, and then they were over and across the finish line. Anna looked at the leader board and there was her name and Jesse’s flashing with the fastest time. A big smile split Anna’s face and she hugged Jesse’s neck. Jesse shook his head and pranced towards the gate. Anna brought him back to a walk and passed through the exit. Her dad was waiting with a horse crunchie in his hand for Jesse and a clean towel to wipe the sweat off the horse’s neck and face. Together they walked into the hitching ring and found a spot where they could watch the rest of the class. Anna held her breath as the final horse and rider completed the course. They had a clear round but they hadn’t beaten Anna’s time! Anna hugged Jesse in delight. There was no way Dad could sell Jesse now. They had won the class and that was the deal!

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Storytime, day 15

Mashed and Fluffy or even Lumpy, but please don’t serve them with a straw! Written by Suzanne Francis

My favorite food on the entire planet is mashed potatoes. If you have a favorite food, and it doesn’t have to be mashed potatoes, (but it should be) you know how heart wrenching it is to see that food made poorly. It’s pure torture to feel your stomach turn from the sight of your favorite food simply because it was put together so wretchedly. Unfortunately, this has happened to me on several occasions and always by the same mashed potato mutilating chef: my Aunt Laina. It’s enough to make mashed potato lovers everywhere leap from their chairs and shout, “How dare you disrespect the potato so vilely?! I never!” It was another Easter and we were off to Aunt Laina’s for dinner. I was afraid. “It’s Easter Sunday,” my mother lectured me in the car. “If I hear one word about watery mashed potatoes...” She mumbled something about my bike, but I had stopped listening after she uttered those two beautiful words: “Mashed Potatoes.” I thought to myself, “Maybe this year will be different. Maybe Aunt Laina has caught on to my subtle hints over the years and decided to take a mashed potato making class. Maybe they won’t be a puddle of potato tears.” I tried to think positive thoughts, but then I started envisioning Aunt Laina preparing the potato juice. She’d take fluffy mashed potatoes and throw them into a bowl of water, mix it wildly and scream, “Still not soupy enough. Let’s try the blender.” She’d put them in the blender, add water, and hit “puree.” “Almost

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there. I want to be able to see my hand through them,” she’d say. I had to stay positive. Maybe this year would be different. Maybe they’d be fluffy and beautiful. The car tires crunched over the gravel covered driveway and my mom offered last words of advice. “I mean it. Not a nasty word or frown. It’s Easter Sunday.” She loved declaring holidays when she lectured me. “It’s Thanksgiving, and this is the way you show thanks?” she’d say, or “You’d think on Fathers Day you’d behave yourself,” or “It’s Presidents Day but that doesn’t seem to mean anything to you.” We walked up to Aunt Laina’s house and I took in the smells from the kitchen. My sense of smell wasn’t keen enough to detect the consistency of the mashed potatoes. Once we sat down for dinner I spied the tightly covered blue bowl containing the potatoes. “That poor blue bowl,” I thought. “Year after year and always having the burden of carrying potato drippings.” My mother dropped spoonfuls of soggy string beans onto my plate. “Eat your veggies,” she said with a tight smile. The beans looked a dull shade of yellow and smelled sickening. Finally, the blue bowl made its way to her hands. She held it high so I couldn’t see. “And some mashed potatoes?” she asked with her mouth twisted into a forced smile. Without waiting for an answer my mother moved the spoon quickly towards my plate... to avoid dripping on the table cloth. Yup. It was another watery mashed potato Easter. I felt like crying but knew that something

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bad would happen to my bike if I did. I couldn’t look. I couldn’t bare to see it. I slowly opened my eyes and watched the slop run all over my plate, coating it like an evil blob. If there were a potato police force they would surely arrest this woman and prevent her from ever going near a potato again. I looked around and saw everyone slowly spooning the gluey stew into their mouths. “How is it?” Aunt Laina smiled and asked. I wanted to answer. But I didn’t. Everyone around the table said things like “delicious” and “great” and “better than last year!” Liars. That’s when I realized the true problem behind the mashed potato massacre. The fake smiles and compliments had basically been causing this madness year after year. How could Aunt Laina know that her mashed potatoes are horrific if no one’s ever told her? She thinks they’re lovely and “delicious” and “great” and “better than last year!” I started thinking about taking a stand. I’d do it for truth, I’d do it for justice, and I’d do it for potatoes everywhere. I envisioned myself speaking before a large, adoring audience. Patriotic music would play over the applauding audience as I prepared to speak. I’d wave my potato flag and wait for the applause to die down. (That could take some time.) Once everyone settled, I’d tell them the true story about how I stood up for the rights of potatoes one Easter Sunday when I told potato enemy number one about the crimes that she had been committing. Afterwards, I’d sign autographs on recipe cards with the most perfect mashed potato recipe in the world scribbled across it— “Honey? Why aren’t you eating your mashed potatoes?” Aunt Laina’s voice screeched. I snapped out of my daydream and saw everyone staring at me. My mother’s face was tight like a stretched out rubber band and her eyes were big. I looked down at

my plate and took a deep breath. “They’re too watery.” There. I said it. “What’s that, dearie? I can’t hear you.” “You killed them.” I think I heard a gasp escape from my mother’s mouth. “You added too much water. Mashed potatoes are supposed to be fluffy and light. These are... not.” There. I did it. I looked up and saw all eyes on me. “Oh,” Aunt Laina said. “I see...” She paused and stared at me for what felt like an hour. “I guess I’ll try and remember to add less water next year,” she said and dug right back into the food on her plate. In fact, everyone did. I couldn’t believe it. My mom looked at me before going back to the soggy bean hanging over her fork like a dead goldfish. I knew that something was going to happen to my bike when we got home. But I didn’t mind. It was worth it. I had taken a stand for potatoes everywhere. And I was proud. Maybe next year will be different. Maybe they’ll be fluffy and beautiful!

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Storytime, day 16

Trapped Written by James P. Giangobbe

George Fink, age twelve, stared at the battered cardboard box in the alley behind his house. He was concerned with the plight of a grasshopper, trapped in the box, exhausted, following several futile attempts to escape. George’s imagination began working overtime. What would I do if I were as small as that grasshopper, trapped in a box? He kept thinking, what if, what if? Suddenly, It was no longer the grasshopper in the box. It was George, a very tiny George, but no doubt, it was still George. George was bewildered. What happened? Where am I? He gazed at the high, smooth walls that surrounded him. I’ll never be able to climb these walls. They’re slick, and look fifty stories high. He studied the walls carefully, searching for flaws, or anything that would enable him to escape from his prison. He discovered some rough edges at one corner which offered a momentary ray of hope. Selecting the roughest corner, he began his ascent. He clutched stubby shreds of string while groping for footholds in the tattered cardboard. Slowly he climbed three inches, which seemed like twenty feet. At that point the loose strings and the rough cardboard disappeared. He had nothing further to clutch to, and his feet kept slipping.. With scraped hands and sore feet, he slid painfully to the floor of the box. He lay on his back, panting, exhausted, shading his

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From Arizona, USA

eyes from the sun. Surely, someone will come by and find me. My folks will look for me when I don’t show for dinner. If I yell someone will hear me. George shouted, “Help, help!” His voice sounded loud to him, but tiny George now had a tiny voice. The sound could not escape the confines of his prison. He yelled until he became hoarse, but no one heard, and no one came. George was strong, and could usually handle adversity, but he was rapidly becoming frustrated. Tears appeared, his stomach growled, he was hungry, thirsty, tired, and frightened.. I wonder how long I’ve been here? It seems like hours. It will be dark soon. Think George, think! There has to be a way to escape from this dumb box. I can’t climb out. If I had wings I could fly out. If the box were filled with water I could swim out. There has to be a way to get out of here! Think, think, George. Suddenly, the box shook violently. What is happening? It feels like we’re having an earthquake? The loud roar of a nearby engine forced George to cover his ears. A shadow slowly covered the box. George looked up and saw a huge leg. He craned his neck upward. Wow! There is a giant next to my box. “Help, Help. Look, I’m down here. Help me, please help!” The giant couldn’t hear George’s weak voice, and didn’t seem the least bit interested in looking into the box.

The box suddenly moved rapidly through space, landing with a thud in a parked dump truck. Shaken, George looked up just in time to dodge the array of trash showering down from above. He quickly covered his head with his arms, until the barrage subsided. Now I’m in a real mess. Trapped in a dark box headed for some dump. What a way to die, buried underneath tons of smelly garbage. I must get out of here before they get to the dump. If I only had a knife, or something sharp I could cut through the cardboard. George searched his pockets, looking for something that might help. He found a handkerchief, a batter’s glove, a sweat band, two nickels and a penny. Darn it, none of these are going to help. Suddenly, the dump truck came to halt, and George, in his box, was unceremoniously dumped along with the rest of the garbage into the city dump. Momentarily shaken up, he was relieved to find he wasn’t buried under tons of garbage. He could see the stars above in the night sky. The only thing new was the unpleasant aroma of garbage, plus the other debris that surrounded him. Phew! This garbage stinks! I’m hungry. I wonder if there is anything here to eat? The full moon above offered sufficient light for George to rummage around. He searched carefully, but his rewards were few: banana peels, spoiled tomatoes, cucumber skins, bones, cans, magazines and scraps of paper. I’m hungry, but I’m not eating this garbage. Maybe there is something left in the cans? He found three cans. Two were lidless and dry as a bone. The third still had a shaggy lid attached by a thin shred of metal. George pried the lid open wider, cutting his thumb in the process. While he

instinctively stuck his thumb in his mouth to ease the pain, he realized that he had discovered a potential means of escape. The can cover, the ragged metal cover, it’s perfect, I can use it to cut my way out of the box. Using his handkerchief and batter’s glove to protect his hands, he broke a small, sharp, sliver of metal from the cover’s edge. At the ragged corner of the box he slowly cut several loosened threads that bound the corner of the box. With the threads gone, he laboriously spread an opening in the corner of the box, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He emerged from the box, free at last. Heaving a sigh of relief while brushing the debris off his pants, he suddenly discovered that he was no longer small, and it was no longer night. He was still standing in the alley staring at the plight of the grasshopper trapped in the box. Feeling great compassion, he grabbed the box and tipped it upside down, freeing the exhausted grasshopper who weakly hopped away. He smiled, thinking, no one deserves to be trapped in a box, not even a grasshopper. He noticed a small cut on his thumb, and wondered, how did that happen? Finally, he tossed the empty box into the trash bin, never noticing the small opening in one ragged corner of the box.

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Storytime, day 17

Burrow Buddies Written by Lauren Abbey Greenberg

Rabbit and Chipmunk frolicked all afternoon in Rabbit’s yard. They played tag and hide and seek. They dug for wild strawberries. They were so busy that when the sun went down, they didn’t even notice. “Rabbit,” called his mom from inside his burrow. “Dinner is almost ready. Say goodbye to your friend.” “See you tomorrow, Chipmunk,” said Rabbit. But Chipmunk did not move. “What’s the matter?” “Can you walk me home?” “But Chipmunk,” said Rabbit, “your home is only six burrows away.” “I know, but…” Chipmunk looked embarrassed. He whispered in Rabbit’s ear. “I’m scared of the dark.” Rabbit hugged his friend. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you home.” So off they went. They strolled through the forest, passing their neighbors along the way. They said hello to Raccoon, relaxing in his hollow log. They walked by Mole’s hole and saw him tunneling through the dirt. They waved when Opossum peeked out of her hideaway. And they took extra care not to step on Ant’s anthill. Finally, they reached Chipmunk’s burrow. “Goodbye, Rabbit,” said Chipmunk. But Rabbit did not move. “What’s the matter?” Rabbit gulped. “I think I’m scared of the dark, too.” Chipmunk smiled. “Don’t worry, friend. I’ll walk you home.” So off they went. They took extra care not to step on Ant’s Anthill. They skipped past Woodchuck’s den. They waved again to Opossum. They passed by Mole’s hole and Raccoon’s hollow log. Finally, they reached Rabbit’s burrow. “Goodbye, Chipmunk,” said Rabbit. “Wait a minute,” said Chipmunk. “You can’t leave me here. I’m scared of the dark, remember?” “Right. I almost forgot.”

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From Maryland, USA

So off they went again, passing by Raccoon’s log, Mole’s hole, Opossum’s hideaway, Woodchuck’s den and Ant’s anthill. Finally, they reached Chipmunks burrow. Rabbit frowned. “This isn’t working. We can’t do this all night.” The two friends thought and thought. Then Rabbit grabbed Chipmunk’s paw. “Come with me.” Rabbit led Chipmunk past Ant’s anthill and Woodchuck’s den until they reached Opossum’s hideaway. “This is right in the middle of both of our burrows,” said Rabbit. “If we talk to each other while we go in different directions, maybe we won’t be so scared.” Chipmunk nodded. “Let’s try it.” “Goodbye!” they said at the same time. Chipmunk dashed to Woodchuck’s den and Rabbit darted to Mole’s tunnel. They stopped and turned. Rabbit could barely see Chipmunk in the dark. Rabbit waved his arms in the air. “Are you OK?” Chipmunk waved back. “Yes, let’s keep going.” “See you later!” they yelled together. Chipmunk hurried to Ant’s anthill and Rabbit hopped to Raccoon’s log. Rabbit stopped and turned. He couldn’t see his friend anymore. He cupped his paws around his mouth and shouted, “Chipmunk, can you hear me?” His voice echoed through the forest. Rabbit put a paw to his ear and listened for his burrow buddy. “I can hear you,” said Chipmunk’s far-away voice. Rabbit breathed a sigh of relief. “Goodnight Chipmunk!” he said at the top of his lungs. “Goodnight Rabbit!” Chipmunk screamed back. Rabbit scampered. Chipmunk scurried. Safe and sound, they made it home.

Bonus Story, day 17

The Giant Surprise Written by William Thabiso

The giant watched quietly as the little animals came out from the forest and into the meadow. The butterflies were playing tag. The squirrels and chipmunks were playing hide and go seek. Even the deer, foxes, and birds were joining in on the fun. The Giant kept very still, hoping not to give himself away. Slowly he crouched down and prepared to jump out from his hiding place. The animals looked so happy running and playing with so much fun and excitement. None of the animals knew what happened – they had no idea there was a giant in the forest! He leapt from behind the tree with a large roar. They ran and scattered away. The giant was stomping close behind. They flew into tree branches, dove into burrows, and ran down forest trails. The giant couldn’t decide which animals to follow. He kept stomping. He jumped right and left. He grabbed up high and down low. He was very loud with his stomping and jumping! Soon the animals realized that they didn’t hear any more stomping. They began to slow down. They turned back toward the meadow to see what had happened – did he catch an animal? As the animals gathered closer, hiding behind bushes and trees, peaking around corners, they saw the giant sitting in the middle of the meadow with his head bent down and his hands by his face. Oh no, which animal did he catch? What was he doing? A little mouse told the other animals that maybe the giant looked sad. She wanted to go see what was wrong. Many animals told her not to go, it must be a trick. The giant would surely grab her. They watched a little longer, and the mouse finally decided the giant really was sad, and she was going to go help him. Off she hurried

From Utah, USA

to see the giant. To everyone’s surprise, when the giant put his hands down, there were big wet tears coming down his big face. The mouse was right, the giant was sad, but why? More animals gathered closer. They listened carefully as he explained. He was just trying to play their games with them. It looked like so much fun. He should have known they would be scared. He was sorry. Would they please come back? Could he play too? Soon, all of the animals were hiding from the giant. But this time he was counting …7, 8, 9, 10! “Ready or not, here I come!” called the Giant, and he stomped away to find them.

Classical Music Story This story was created with my son and daughter while listening to a piece of classical music together on the radio. Try it together - you’re kids will love it. Just listen to a piece together and imagine what could be happening, then make a story out of it. To listen to the piece that inspired this story, and learn more about it, go to www.knowonder.com/music/giant.

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Storytime, day 18

Ice Skating With Grandma Written by Cheryl Weibye Wilke

“But Mom ... why do I have to go to Grandma’s?” “Because,” she said, holding a sequined dress in front of her. “Because, why?” I pounced on her bed. “There’s no one to play with and nothing to do there.” “Katie, I’m going out and so are you. You’re not staying home alone. Either you can go to Grandma’s or Great Aunt Brunhilda’s.” She marched out of the room to the tune of “… and that is that.” When we got to Grandma’s, she opened the door and raised her arms for a hug. “Hello Katie,”she said. “Hi Grandma,” I brushed past her and headed for the living room. I flipped on the television and turned up the volume. Wearing her hand-knit slippers, she scuffed into the room. “What would you like for supper tonight—spaghetti and meatballs, or spinach soufflé?” After dinner, we stood side by side at her kitchen sink. Grandma rinsed away the remaining dribbles of tomato sauce as I dried the last dish. “I suppose it’s bedtime?” I grumbled more than asked. “Bedtime?” she chuckled. “Not by a long shot. What would you like to do?” I want to go home, my insides screamed. Instead, I sighed, “I’ll just sit here and count the loops in the rug.” “Come with me,” said Grandma.

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From Minnesota, USA

She opened the door leading up to the attic. The stairs creaked under our feet. The higher we went, the colder it got. “Gee, Grandma …” I shivered. “What are we going to do up here? Build a snowman.” Grandma giggled. I followed her to the farthest corner in the attic. She knelt down with a grunt, stretched behind a rafter, and reeled in two boxes. She handed me one and said with a puff of steam, “Open it.” Sonja Henie Pleasure Skates the lid attempted to announce from under a sheet of dust. Peeling away layers of yellowed tissue, I uncovered two crackled and yellowed figure skates. Grandma opened the other box and pulled out a larger size of the same. “Who did these belong to? Martha Washington?” I asked, looking down at the skates I held. “Not quite,” chuckled Grandma. “To another young lady long ago.” “You?” I asked. “Uh-huh!” she grinned. “Let’s go.” We walked five blocks to the village ice rink. With skates named after the three-time Olympic gold medal skater slung over our shoulders, we rounded the road to the warming house. Inside the building sat three long benches. A grizzlewhiskered man was feeding wood into a pot-bellied stove, and old phonograph records to a

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player. Grandma and I plunked down on a bench lined with icicles. I finished lacing one of my skates when she unfolded, “C’mon Katie, let’s hit the ice.” Grandma lowered her head and charged for the rink like a bull on blades. A pack of hockey sticks parted the way. Two eyes gaped through the warming house window. I dug my skate tips into the ice. “Oh my! She’s going to ... ” Grandma circled the rink with one leg raised behind her.” I hid behind my mittens. She circled the rink a second time with her arms directing “Jingle Bells Rock.” Spinning halfway around, she pulled into reverse and kicked up ice. Oh my goodness ... she’s going to crash right into meeeeee. “Whoa ... whoa ... Grandma! I don’t know how toooooo ... ” She grabbed my elbow. Arm in arm, Grandma and I sailed around and around the rink like snowflakes in a snow globe. Back at her house, we popped popcorn and made two hot chocolates. Wrapped in blankets that smelled like Grandma, we snuggled into the corners of her sofa. She talked about the days from her first clip-on ice blades to her Sonja Henie Pleasure Skates—from country ponds to the city ice rink. I’d never thought of Grandma as a girl before. I last remember hearing one lone chirp from the cuckoo clock. Both of us woke to crisp knocks on the door. “Oh my ... ” Grandma said, “Your mother’s here.” “Aaaargh ... I don’t want to go home. There’s nothing to do there.” Grandma opened the door to my mom, “Well if it isn’t a couple

of sleepyheads,” she said. “Looks like you two were up later than I was last night.” I grinned at Grandma. She winked at me. Headed back to the car, Mom slipped down the icy driveway, spun into reverse, and planted her bottom in a snow bank. “Looks like you need some practice,” laughed Grandma. On the way home, I asked my mom, “Can we go to Grandma’s on Christmas Day?” “No.” “Why not?” I asked. “Because she’s coming to our house.” “Hurray!” I shouted. Bright and early on Christmas morning, Grandma tottered up to our door. Her eyes glittering from behind three boxes of brand new figure skates. She burst out, “Let’s go, ladies. Let’s hit the ice.”

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Storytime, day 19

The Boy who wanted a Tail Written by Nancy Kopp

Kirby looked out the window at the steady rain and drummed his fingers on the windowsill. “I think I would like to have a tail.” Kirby’s mother stopped clearing the table. She asked, “And why would you want a tail? I don’t know any other boy who has one.” Kirby frowned. “I liked the ones I saw on Pirate Pete’s show this morning.” “Well,” Mother said, “what kind of tail do you want?” She crossed her arms but said no more. Kirby said, “I don’t care if it’s long and skinny like a mouse or short and fluffy like a bunny tail.” Mother leaned down and put her hand on Kirby’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’d like having a tail at all. What good would it be? Have you thought about that?” Kirby paced in front of the breakfast table. “If it was long, I could swish it at bugs. If people asked me about it, I could teach them all about tails.” “All right,” Mother said, “you go upstairs and get dressed, and we’ll see if we can find a tail when we shop this morning.” Kirby hurried to his room. He dressed in bright blue shorts and a blue and white shirt. He put his sneakers on, brushed his teeth, and combed his messed-up hair. Then he rushed back to the kitchen. “You certainly get dressed mighty fast when you have something to do.” Mother laughed and reached for Kirby’s hand. “Let’s get started looking for that tail.” They drove downtown in the soft summer rain. Kirby held Mother’s hand as they stopped in almost every shop on both sides of Main Street. Inside each one, Mother asked, “Do you sell tails for

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From Kansas, USA

little boys?” Mother had no smiles, no laugh. She sounded very serious. Each shopkeeper looked surprised at the question. They looked at Mother, then down at Kirby, but none of them laughed either. They tried the card shop, the pharmacy, the book shop, a children’s clothing store, even the bakery. They heard words like, “No, we don’t sell tails here.” Or “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.” Finally, there was only one shop left—the hardware store. On the way in, Kirby said, “Let me ask this time.” Mr. Sanders, the owner, sat on a high stool by a very big and very old cash register. Mr. Sanders also looked very big and very old. In his loudest voice, Kirby said, “Do you sell tails here?” “Never have and never will,” Mr. Sanders said, quick as a wink. “Nobody sells tails, boy.” His glasses perched on the end of his great nose, and he peered over them at Kirby. Kirby looked at the wooden floor. His shoulders drooped a bit. He thanked Mr. Sanders, took Mother’s hand and led her across the squeaky floor to the door. The rain had stopped, and the sun blazed in the sky, but Kirby didn’t even notice. They’d been searching all morning and hadn’t found a tail. Mother started the car. She looked at Kirby who was quietly buckling his seatbelt. “Maybe we should stop at Biggie Burgers and have some lunch.” “O.K.” answered Kirby in a whisper. Mother waited for a big, shaggy dog to move before she backed out. “C’mon doggie, she said, “I have a hungry boy here.” When they were seated and eating lunch, Kirby didn’t talk. Mother nibbled her hamburger and didn’t say

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anything either. It was not a talking kind of lunch. It was a thinking lunch. Finally Mother said, “Kirby, I truly am sorry we couldn’t find a tail. I know you wanted one very much.” Kirby put his hamburger down. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have a tail of my own, and that’s why we didn’t find one.” He let out a big sigh. “And, maybe if I had one, I might not like it at all. It could get in my way, or people would laugh at me.” Mother reached across the table and patted Kirby’s hand. He smiled then, a really big smile. “I think I know an easier way to have a tail. Let’s find one attached to a nice dog!” Suddenly, it was a laughing kind of lunch. They ate and laughed and made some plans. Kirby said, “I’ll tell Daddy I found a perfect way to have a tail.”

Want a Pet? Remember when you were a kid, and you wanted a pet of your own? You begged and begged, and promised you would help take care of the new animal. Perhaps you’re finding yourself on the other end of that conversation these days, or maybe your family already has a pet. Either way, having a pet is a great way to help teach kids responsibility. Here are some ideas to help get your children sharing the tasks related to having a pet. 1. Scoop the Poop - Dogs make messes, and scooping the poop is a simple task that even a 3 yr. old can assist with. Let one child hold the garbage bag, and let another hold the shovel (we recommend a small, garden shovel). 2. Brushing hair - Unless you are really lucky, most dogs shed. Tell your children, just as they need to brush their hair to get ready for the day, the dog also needs her hair brushed. Let the child help, even though you’ll do most of the work. The important thing is that they begin assisting. 3. Feeding time - all animals need to eat, and most children can help in some aspect with feeding the pet. Let them help the puppy so his stomach doesn’t growl. Make a Pet Chart to track your children’s help. Also, kids need to learn that rewards come after hard work, so make sure to reward your kids every now and then for their help. Of course, don’t forget that praise is always a great reward!

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Storytime, day 20 19

Legend of the White Wolf by Max Elliot Anderson

Brian Fisher had a life that most boys can only dream about. He lived in Montana. His state had places like Great Falls, Big Sky, Black Eagle, and Hungry Horse. Brian lived near Bozeman with his parents. His father worked in the Gallatin National Forest. But the greatest part about living where he did was that people called it the Gateway to Yellowstone. Yellowstone National Park was a place where Brian and his family went as often as possible. Brian and his best friend, Tommy Wilson, would be twelve years old at the end of the summer. They both looked forward to that except for the fact that school would have to start again then, too. For now their days were filled with outdoor exploring from morning till night. “Tell me that story again, will ya?” Tommy asked. “You mean about the wolf?” “What other story have I ever asked you to tell?” “It’s just that you ask for it so many times,” Brian said as he scraped mud from the bottom of his boots with a sharp stick. “I know, but even after all the times I’ve heard it…I still can’t believe it actually happened.” “Well it did.” “You don’t have to get so touchy about it.” Brian looked up. “I know, but everybody else gives me a hard time. Sometimes I wonder if it happened myself.” “You mean it? It might not have happened?” “No. It did.” “So, you were only five, right?” “Six.”

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From Illinois, USA

“Were you scared?” “You bet I was!” Tommy sat on a nearby rock and listened. “My parents have always let me explore things,” Brian began. “That’s what I was doing that afternoon. I had gone out into the woods to visit Windwalker.” “I still don’t know how somebody’s mother names a guy Windwalker.” “He’s an Indian. Indians pick names from nature or stuff that happens to them.” “Man, I’d hate it if somebody heard me burp one day and decided to call me Boy Who Belches.” “It could be worse.” “Yeah, like the time you fell and rolled all the way down that hill.” He laughed for a moment. “And when you tried to stand up you were too dizzy, fell down and rolled some more.” Tommy started laughing harder. “I can hear it now. ‘We shall call him… ‘Dizzy.’” Brian smiled. “Let’s get back to the story. I was hiking around a place a lot like where we are now when I heard something crying.” “What did you think it was?” “At first I thought it might be a lost baby or something. So I walked toward the sound. I went closer and closer, and when I did, the sound got louder. My heart was pounding and I started breathing like a rabbit that a fox almost caught. I sneaked up to some bushes and pushed them apart.” “And that’s when you saw it?” Brian nodded. “It was the most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen.” “Tell me about the leg.” “Well, what I saw was the cutest little wolf. He had fluffy fur, eyes like

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two hot coals, and he was completely white.” Then Brian became strangely quiet. “Then what?” “You know the rest.” “I know, but I love when you tell it.” “The poor little guy had his foot caught in one of those metal traps.” “The kind that snaps together when you step in it?” Brian looked at Tommy. “You wanna finish the story or what?” Tommy shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a scary story. Every time you tell it I still almost get a heart attack.” “Like I’ve said before, I’ve never seen a wolf as white as this one, and those eyes. I’ll never forget them.” “What about the leg?” “That trap sliced into his skin, right through the fur. His little leg was covered in blood.” Tommy shivered, like he did every time before when he heard that part. “I looked around, then I moved in to see if I could help him. He tried to back away. Then he snarled and growled at me.” “Like he thought you could hurt him more than that trap.” “I reached down to open the trap, but when I did, he jumped toward me and tried to bite my hand. So I took a stick and jammed it in his mouth. While the little thing was busy biting on that I went for the trap again.” “And that’s when you heard the other noise?” Brian slowly nodded. “It was lower and sounded a whole lot worse. I turned to look over my shoulder and when I did…there she was. The scariest-looking wolf I’d ever seen was staring right through me. But I was only six-years-old and didn’t know any better.” “Didn’t know what?” “That she was about to jump up and bite my face off, that’s what. So I turned back, opened the trap and the little wolf pulled his leg out. He cried a little more and I think that

made his mother even more angry.” “Then what?” “Well, his left leg was cut pretty bad, but it didn’t look like the bones were broken.” “How could you tell?” “I couldn’t, really. It’s just that he could step on it a little. Then he lifted it and ran on only three legs right past me till he got to his mother. After that he turned around, cocked his head, and just looked back at me.” “What did the mother do?” “It was the strangest thing. She put her teeth away.” “Huh?” “You know, she closed her mouth and stopped growling. I’m not sure, but it almost looked like she was smiling at me with her eyes. She licked his bloody leg…” Tommy shivered again. “Yuck.” “Then they disappeared into the brush. I’ve never seen them since.” “Did you go back home then?” “First I pulled the chain out of the ground, that was connected to the trap. Then I left.” “And that’s when old Windwalker saw you.” “He sure did, and was he ever mad. He thought I was getting ready to set the trap. He told me how painful those things are and that some animals die a terrible death from them. He even told me he’s seen them actually chew off one of their own legs, just to get loose.” Tommy stood up and raised his hands. “Okay, stop. That’s enough.” “I told him I didn’t set any traps, only that I found this one with a wolf in it. Then I told him what had happened. I can still remember the look on his face when I told him about the white wolf with red eyes. That’s when he told me the story.” “The legend of the white wolf?” Brian nodded. “Could we go see if he’ll tell it again? I’d like to meet him.” Brian stood up. He looked off into the rocks and trees. “I wonder if I’ll ever see that white wolf again.”

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Storytime, day 21

Super Grandpa! A Story Game™ story

Written by Lance O. Redding

Grandpa sat in a chair in the lounge of the care center for the elderly with his eyes closed, his head hung low, and his hands folded across his lap. To any onlooker, he would appear asleep, and that’s exactly what he wanted. If he was sleeping, they wouldn’t bother him. But Grandpa Sorenson wasn’t asleep. Grandpa Sorenson almost never slept, because he was, in fact, a Super Hero. Like all people, though, even Super Heros get old, and when his wife had passed away a few years ago, his children came and told him he’d be better off in a care center, where he could meet new people, socialize, and have help whenever he needed it. His children all lived far away, now. His son was a doctor in Miami, and his daughter was a Professor in California. He was proud of them, and loved them very much, but he knew the last thing he needed was to be stuck inside a care center. Old Folks’ Home is what it is, he thought to himself. He chuckled out loud, but tried to stop himself to not ruin his disguise of sleep, so instead, it came out as a sort of loud snort that sounded like a mix between an elephant and a monkey. Luckily, no one was close enough to bother him, and truth be told, no one would say much to him if he didn’t say something to them, first. Grandpa was sort of a loner at the home. He just didn’t fit in. Oh, the others all pretended to be nice to him, but they were just being polite. When he didn’t play their old-people games, or watch their old-people

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From Utah, USA

shows, the others gradually stopped inviting him to join them, and now, it was rare for anyone to even say hello to him as he walked down the hall. Well, thought Grandpa, I don’t need them, anyway. They’ll all be gone in a couple of years, but I’ll still be here. Strong and able, and ready to save the world! That sounded like a good idea, actually. Just what the doctor ordered. A good, exciting adventure would help clear the head, get the blood pumping, and break up the never-ending boredom of his new home. But if he opened his eyes, or got out of his chair, the nurses would pounce on him. Those cursed nurses!, he thought. Why can’t they leave me alone? But he knew why. Because they were curious. They were on to him. They knew he wasn’t nearly as weak and feeble as the others. If only he hadn’t stopped that car from hitting Old Betty. Of course, he couldn’t have let it hit her, either, he supposed. Unfortunately, Betty had talked. Why didn’t the nurses just ignore her? Chalk it up to dementia? Well, it is what it is, he decided. And I’m not going to just waste my life away, sitting here, afraid of some silly nurses. They can’t prove anything, anyway. Let them have their suspicions. I’m off to find adventure, danger, and hopefully a few people who will appreciate a helpful hand, even if it is an old Grandpa’s. Grandpa stood up, and with an agility that all the other grandmas

and grandpas envied, made his way to his room to gather his things. As he passed room number 45, though, he heard a sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. His Super Hero ears zoomed in on the sound. Yes, sniffles, he thought. Someone has been crying. He shook his head and tried to ignore the sound, to continue to his room, but his Super Hero heart wouldn’t let him. Here was someone who needed help, and needed it now. He looked at the nameplate by the door. Mrs. Fettington. Oh no, he thought. Why her? She’s probaby just crying because she woke up too late and missed Wheel of Fortune. But even though his mind didn’t want to be there, his heart moved his feet forward, and before he knew it, he was softly knocking on the door. It wasn’t closed all the way, and opened slightly when he knocked. “Yes,” came a soft voice from inside. “Who is it?” Grandpa cleared his throat. “It’s me, Mr. Sorenson. I heard crying. Is there anything I can do to help?” “Oh, no, Mr. Sorenson. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Please pay no attention to me,” and she started crying all over again. Grandpa came into the room and sat on the chair next to her. “Please tell me all about it,” he said. She proceeded to tell him all about her son, and her two grandchildren, and how they were coming to visit her in just a few hours for Christmas, and she didn’t have any presents for them. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any money - she just couldn’t get out of the home anymore. Her legs didn’t work right, and she got weak so quickly. She worried that this might be the last Christmas she would ever see her grandchildren and son again, and wanted to give them something special. She knew exactly the toys that they wanted, if only she could

get them, somehow. “Never fear, my lady,” said Super Grandpa, feeling enthused because he had just found a mission. Now, shopping might not seem all that adventurous to some of you, but to a man, in New York City, at Christmas time, it’s one of the scariest events of the year. It was perfect. Mrs. Fettington gave him some money, and then he grabbed his jacket, scarf and hat, and stepped out his door. “Mr. Sorenson,” said a nurse as she came toward him down the hall. “Mr. Sorenson, we need to take your blood. We need to do a test.” Grandpa didn’t stick around. He walked briskly the other way, pushed open the door, and ran around the corner of the building. He looked around to make sure no one was looking, then flew off into the air above. He landed on the roof of the mall behind a large snowdrift, and quickly made his way down the stairs and inside. People were everywhere! Hundreds, even thousands of them, coming and going in all directions. It was complete mayhem. Grandpa knew exactly what to buy, and exactly what store it was in, but it was going to take Super Hero powers to get there and back to Mrs. Fettington in time.

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Storytime, day 21 continued

He assesed the situation. He was on the third floor, and the store he needed was on the first. He looked at the stairs. Jam-packed with people. Then he saw the escalators. They were packed, too, but the handrail was completely open. “Look out below”, he called, as he jumped onto the rail and slid past everyone. “Woohoo!” he called out, truly enjoying the ride. With Super Speed he ran to the store, and bought the presents. Then he flew back to the home, and gave the gifts to Mrs. Fettington just as her grandchildren knocked on the her door. “Thank you, so much!” said Mrs. Fettington, as tears filled her eyes. “You will never know how important this is to me. You are my hero.” She gave Grandpa a hug, and a small kiss on the cheek. Grandpa blushed, but inside, he felt his heart swell with gratitude. And as he watched her grandson open the model spaceship, and her granddaughter open the fairy castle, tears crept into his eyes, as well. Super Grandpa slipped out of the room and went to his room. He laid down on his bed, and for the first time since coming to the new home, he was pretty sure he had just made a new friend, and he was happy. This story was written using the Story Game™ cards shown below:

The Story Game™ Super Grandpa is a story that was written using the Story Game cards from the September issue! The Story Game is a fun game that helps kids and parents come up with new stories, any time, anywhere. To play the Story Game, simply cut out the cards provided in each issue, then stick them on a cardboard backing or laminate them, to preserve their life. Don’t forget, you can make your own cards, too! Next, put all the cards in a hat or box and let each person of the family choose a card. The goal of the game is to make up a story using each card pulled from the hat! A couple of variations for telling a Story Game story are as follows: 1 - Choose all the cards first, and have mom or dad tell the story using all the cards chosen in the beginning. This works especially well at bedtime. 2 - Tell the story in a circle, and “pass” the story to the next person. When it’s the next persons turn, that person then chooses a card and must work that card into the story. 3 - Combination: Dad or mom starts the story with cards pulled at the beginning, and then, as the story progresses, each child takes turns pulling a new card from the hat. Mom or dad now has to work the new card into the story. For this month’s new Story Game cards, go to page 124. And don’t forget to submit your new stories to knowonder!

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Storytime, day 22

The Case of the Thoughtful Thief Written by Aileen Stewart

It was a hot day in Norwood Valley. A really hot day! But the big pond behind the Stonewall farm offered relief to family and friends alike. “It sure is hot out,” exclaimed nine year old Sandy, the oldest of the Stonewall children. “Yeah,” said Toby, Sandy’s six year old brother. “It’s a good day for swimming.” “Yeah,” echoed Sarah Hanson, Sandy’s best friend and nearest neighbor. “And the rope swing your dad put up for jumping into the pond is really cool. Can I go first?” she asked excitedly. “Of course,” said Sandy, always the gentleman. “Why does she always get to go first,” mumbled Toby. Sandy poked his little brother in the ribs with his elbow and gave him a dirty look. Toby was smart enough not to say anything else. After all, he had to share a room with Sandy. Sarah decided to take off her silver charm bracelet before jumping. She carefully laid it on the edge of her beach towel, and ran to the rope. She grabbed the rope, stood on the knot tied in the end, and looked in Sandy’s direction. “Can you swing me please,” she said smiling sweetly. Sandy ran toward her and gave her a push. Toby stood behind Sandy rolling his eyes. He didn’t know why his brother thought Sarah was so great. After all, she was just a girl. “Cannonball,” she yelled as she

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let go of the rope and grabbed her legs. “Me next,” shouted Toby “OK,” said Sandy, “Get on and I’ll give you a push too.” The children spent a wonderful hour jumping into the pond. Toby got tired and headed back to the house, but Sandy and Sarah decided to swim a bit longer. When they finally decided they were tired, they got out and began to dry off. “That’s funny,” said Sarah. “What,” asked Sandy? “I left my charm bracelet right here on the edge of my towel and now it’s gone.” “Are you sure?” said Sandy coming over to see. “All I can find are my shoes and this red stone. You don’t think Toby left this stone as a joke do you?” she laughed. “I don’t know, let’s go ask him,” he said frowning. “I’ll race you,” said Sarah who had already snatched up her things and had begun to run. “Cheater,” said Sandy quickly catching up to her. He then passed her and left her far behind. A breathless Sarah finally rounded the corner of the house and saw Sandy sitting on the front porch swing as if he had been there all day. “What took you so long,” he said grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Very funny, smarty pants,” she said sticking out her tongue. The two then entered the house and found Mrs. Stonewall in the kitchen baking. Mrs. Stonewall was always baking something

delicious. Sometimes it was a cake or a pie; but today, it was chocolate chip cookies. “Hey mom,” said Sandy as he reached for a cookie. “Hey yourself,” she said handing a cookie to Sarah. “Thanks Mrs. S,” Sarah said between bites. “Have you seen Toby?” “I think he’s up in his room,” she replied. “OK,” the children said together. They quickly finished their cookies and ran upstairs. Sandy and Toby shared a room at the end of the hall. The room next to theirs belonged to their three year old sister Rosie, and on the other side of the bathroom was their mom and dad’s room.

The door was open, so Sandy and Sarah went in. Toby was lying on the bottom bunk reading a book about insects. “Hey, squirt,” Sandy said, “Did you take Sarah’s charm bracelet?” “No,” he said looking up from his book. “Then who left this red stone on my towel instead of my bracelet” she asked? “I don’t know,” he said showing a bit more interest. “Let me see the stone.” It was just a small, ordinary, red stone about the size of a marble. All three children studied the stone carefully. Toby handed the stone back to Sarah and laughingly said, “Well, you two are always figuring

things out, so where did this rock come from?” “I don’t know,” said a perplexed Sarah. “If you or Sandy didn’t leave it, then who in the world could have left it and taken my charm bracelet without being seen?” “I know,” said Toby as he jumped up and began rummaging through his dresser until he found his magnifying glass, “Let’s go look for clues.” “Alright,” Sandy agreed. A very quiet Sarah followed the two boys. On the way back to the pond she began to worry. What would she do if they couldn’t find her bracelet? The bracelet was a Christmas gift from her mom and dad. Her older sister Tabitha had even mowed lawns for two months in order to buy her the small dolphin charm which was her favorite. Once again at the pond, the three children began to look around where the towels had been laying. Toby whipped out his magnifying glass, got down on his hands and knees, and began looking through the grass. “It’s too bad there isn’t any dirt here,” he sighed. “Why,” asked Sandy? “Because the thief might have left foot prints,” he replied with a grin. Sandy smiled at his little brother. “Sometimes the squirt actually comes up with a good idea,” he thought. Sandy then looked at Sarah who had begun to cry. “It will be alright,” he said giving her a hug. “Girls,” Toby whispered in disgust. Sarah finally stopped crying and decided to head for home. The boys waved to her as she started toward the road in front of their house. On the way back to the house, Sandy tried and tried to figure out what had happened to Sarah’s bracelet but his mind was a blank. That night at dinner, he

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Storytime, day 22 continued

discussed it with his dad and mom. They couldn’t come up with any ideas either, but his mother remarked on how thoughtful the thief was to leave something else. The next morning when Sandy woke up, he decided to take another look around the yard where Sarah had lost her bracelet. He quickly got dressed and went outside. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find even one single clue. Later that afternoon Sandy sat on the picnic table out back with his feet on the seat and a soda in his hand. As he sat there thinking about nothing in particular, he twisted the soda tab until it came loose. He laid it on the table then finished his soda. Just then Toby rounded the corner of the house. “Hey Squirt,” Sandy said. “Hey yourself,” his brother replied. “Do you want to go with me to look for beaver dams down at the creek?” he asked. “Sure, why not,” Sandy said as he got up from the table and started to follow Toby. The two boys spent an hour at the creek searching for beavers which they eventually found at the southern end of the creek. Having found what they were looking for, the boys started for home. On the way back to the house, Sandy remembered that he had left his soda can on the picnic table. “Wait a minute,” he said to Toby, “I forgot my can.” Sandy grabbed the can off the table and looked around for the tab, but all he could find was an acorn. “That’s weird,” he said. “What’s weird,” Toby asked moving closer to the table. “I accidentally twisted the tab off my soda can this morning, and I left it sitting by my can.” “So,” said Toby. “So, all that’s on the table is an acorn,” Sandy murmured.

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“That is weird,” Toby said as he inspected the table with his brother. Suddenly Sandy remembered something he had once read. “Do you still have that book on rodents?” he asked Toby excitedly. “Yeah, it’s up in our room,” Toby said. Sandy ran into the house like a flash leaving Toby to wonder if all older brothers were as strange as his. Sandy rummaged through his brother’s pile of books until he found the one he wanted and quickly began to scan the pages. “There,” he said to himself, “Just what I thought.” Back outside, Sandy began looking under all the trees and bushes in the back yard. And then he spied it. Under a large bush, halfway between the pond and the picnic table, was a strange looking nest made of twigs, grass, bits of foil, string, and even some Christmas tree tinsel. Very carefully Sandy looked through the nest; and there he found one charm bracelet, one soda tab, a marble, a dime, and a couple of acorns. “I found it,” he shouted. Toby ran over to see what the commotion was all about. “I remembered reading about pack rats and how they like shiny things,” he told Toby. “They are sometimes called trade rats because whenever they take something, they leave something else in its place.” “Cool,” said Toby. “Yeah,” agreed Sandy. “And now we know what happened to Sarah’s bracelet. Let’s take it back to her and tell her about the pack rat,” Toby said. So the two boys ran toward Sarah’s house eager to tell her about the thoughtful thief who had taken her bracelet. “Another mystery solved,” thought Sandy with satisfaction as he happily squeezed the bracelet in his pocket.

Nov 30th 2009

Storytime, day 23

The Very Real Dangers of Being Bored

Written by Chris Shanley Dillman

Only the second week of summer vacation and already boredom had settled in our bones. Sighing, I stared out at the drenching rain and zigzag flashes of lightning. “I’m bored,” my little brother mumbled. “Read a book,” I suggested. “Already did.” “Watch TV.” “Boring.” “Video games?” “Too easy.” “Clean your room?” Danny just glared at me for that stupid suggestion, so I shrugged. “How should I know?” “Cause you’re supposed to be babysitting me.” Sort of, actually the neighbor was keeping an ear out for us. But I was bored too, so I said, “Come on, Danny. There’s bound to be something interesting in the basement.” Cool, dark air swallowed us as we trooped down the creaky, wooden steps. After a bit of searching, we found a likely candidate- a huge, empty cardboard box. “Let’s pretend it’s a castle!” Danny’s eyes shone with excitement. I shook my head. “A pirate ship?” “No…” An idea blossomed. “Danny, today we’re gonna fly!” We tugged, pushed and dragged the box to the top of the steps, and then climbed inside. Settled on our bottoms, I could just barely see over the top. “Ready for this?” “Ready,” he shouted. We scooted and nudged the box to the edge of the landing where it balanced for a heart-pounding second before thumping and skidding down the steep steps. We slammed to a

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stop against the far wall in a puddle of giggles. “Again! Again!” That sounded good to me, so we did. Over and over until the box suffered dents and dings and rips at the seams; our box was broken. I examined the wreckage with regret. “I guess our fun’s over.” “Maybe not…let’s try surfing instead!” For a second, I considered it, but no, it was too risky. “Not if we pad ourselves. We could use this old blanket to tie me to the cardboard, and tuck pillows around my head!” It could work, maybe. Despite a nagging doubt, I tied him in good, and launched my little brother down the steps. Then I watched in shocked horror as piece after piece of the padding dropped away, and he crashed with a sickening thud and a howl of pain. After a panicked dash to the neighbor’s, and a wretchedly worrying trip to the hospital, I sunk into utter relief that Danny only had a sprain and would be okay. But still, it had been my fault. I was older; I was supposed to protect him. Well, I had learned my lesson the hard way and, unfortunately, at my little brother’s expense. After reading Danny to sleep, I started wondering what we could do tomorrow. The possibilities were somewhat limited as I was grounded for life, but as long as it didn’t involve strapping my little brother to flimsy cardboard and launching him down the steps, we should be safe. Perhaps board games, or making a fort with blankets, or a scavenger hunt, or art projects, or I know, something with a parachute…ah, on second thought, maybe not.

Bonus story, day 23

Grandma Sue Written by Marion Tickner

Grandma … I mean Sue … met me at the kitchen door with a hug. I squirmed away and threw my backpack down on the floor. “Hi, big boy. I just made chocolate chip cookies. How about a snack?” “I’m not hungry, Sue,” I mumbled. It felt funny to say her name instead of Grandma. I stomped my way up the stairs. I flopped down onto my bed and stared at the ceiling. Jeremy told me that Sunday is Grandparent’s Day, something like Mother’s Day. He’s going to help his Mother make cookies for his grandparents. I punched my pillow. Grandpa Buckley died in a car crash last year and Grandma Buckley is not even my grandmother. I’d just learned that horrible news last night. Dad explained that his mother had died before I was born. His father remarried after a couple years. So Sue is really my father’s stepmother. I’d always wondered why Dad called her Sue instead of Mom. If I called my mother Liz, I’d get time out. Why did she have to pretend to be my Grandma? I heard a knock on my door. Sue came in and sat on the edge of my bed. “Did you have a bad day at school?” I shook my head. “Do you feel sick?” Yes, my heart hurts because they tricked me into thinking she’s my grandmother. I skewed my mouth around to keep from crying. “Want to talk about it?” Sue asked. “I – I- just found out you’re not

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my grandmother.” “Oh! Because I’m not your father’s real mother? Do you think I’m a wicked stepmother?” I shook my head. Then I giggled. “That’s better. I like to hear you laugh.” She hugged me and I didn’t even mind it this time. ”After your dad’s mother died, Grandpa Buckley was very lonely. We’d known each other for a long time, and you might say we fell in love.” Gross! “I’d never been married before. We were too old to have children, so I looked forward to having grandchildren to love.” I wiped away a tear that had escaped. “You were the first,” she told me. “When you were born, I loved you so much. I didn’t think I’d have any love left for anyone else. But do you know what? I still had plenty of love for all your cousins.” I thought about my friend Jeremy. He has grandparents, but after school he goes home to an empty house. Sometimes he gets lonely. At least Grandma is always here for me. And she knows how to bake good stuff. My other grandparents live in Florida, but I never see them. They send money every year for my birthday and Christmas. Grandma Sue always knows what I want most and gives me perfect presents. Maybe Jeremy could help me think of something special to do for Grandparent’s Day. I reached up and gave her a special hug. “I guess I’m a little hungry, Grandma,” I whispered into her ear. “May I have a cookie now?”

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Storytime, day 24

A Brush With Friendship Written by Sonja Anderson

Laurel shuffled down the hallway back to her fourth grade class, wishing that the day was over. Another student passing by stared intensely at Laurel’s feet. What had she done wrong, now? Laurel looked down and her face instantly went hot. She still had on the toilet slippers! Things didn’t get any better back in class once she had finally changed to her inside shoes and saw her assignment. It looked like a cricket had jumped onto a black inkpad and danced all over the paper. Kanji, they called it. Kind of cool-looking, but how would she ever understand it? Three months in Japan was going to feel like forever! Laurel missed Seattle—and her favorite class, art. Why did her dad have to take a job in the middle of nowhere, halfway around the world, in the middle of the school year? “To, zai, nan, boku,” said the teacher, Kimura-sensei, pointing to east, south, west, and north on a compass she had drawn on the board. More of the cricket writing, too. After that, she announced something that sounded important. “Kaki zome,” she called it (it sounded like kah-kee zoh-meh, whatever that meant). Everyone around her started talking excitedly about this new project. “Roh-reh-roo!” Startled, Laurel finally realized

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the teacher was speaking to her. “Yes? Um, hai?” Her name was so hard to say in Japanese! Everyone, including the teacher, said it wrong. “Roh-reh-roo, here, please.” Kimura-sensei motioned for her to come to the front, where she stood with two students who looked like they had just been given toilet-cleaning duty. “Ayumi live Tennessee last ye-ah,” the teacher told her, pointing to a shy-looking girl. “Her kanji behind class, but she know a little English. Takashi very good at calligraphy writing and kanji,” she said about the second student, whose face wore a little scowl. “He help you and Ayumi with kaki zome.” The teacher left smiling, but Takashi, Ayumi, and Laurel stood silent, each looking in a different direction. Finally, Laurel asked Ayumi what kaki zome meant. “‘Kaki zome’ means ‘first writing’ for New Year calligraphy contest.” A writing contest? Laurel’s heart fell. She couldn’t write in Japanese! The recess bell rang, and class was dismissed. Laurel gave Ayumi a small smile. To her relief, Ayumi returned the grin. “You—me—?” Ayumi pointed the door. “Sure! Hai!” Laurel grabbed her coat, went to the shoe rack for her outside shoes, and then

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out to play. The next day Ayumi invited Laurel to practice calligraphy at her apartment on Friday. A light snow fell as Laurel walked with Ayumi to her apartment. They entered a spare, pretty room off to one side of the kitchen. Bare branches with red berries in a simple arrangement decorated one corner. Some long-handled brushes with round, pointed bristles were lined up neatly on a low table. It was surprisingly comfortable to sit on the traditional tatami mat floor with its soft, grassy kind of smell. She slid her legs under a thick blanket that came out from under the table top. A heater under the table made her even warmer. It was cozy. “Let’s start with easy one,” said Ayumi. She brushed a picture of a tree in black ink, then a spidery character similar to the tree. “Ki,” she said. “Tree.” Laurel tried it. The brush felt good in her hand. As she painted the word for tree, Laurel felt strangely at home for the first time since she had left Seattle. “Calligraphy writing is like art!” she told her parents at dinner, her eyes shining. They practiced every day. Takashi helped Ayumi with the kanji she had missed when she was in Tennessee, and Ayumi translated the words into English for Laurel. Laurel even helped Ayumi to control her brush better, so the lines that were supposed to be thin weren’t too thick. Takashi stopped scowling. “Sugoi!” he said, pointing to one of Laurel’s kanji and grinning. “Great!” translated Ayumi. “Domo arigato,” Laurel

replied with a slight Japanese bow. “Thank you!” Takashi and Ayumi laughed. The recess bell rang, and when the teacher dismissed them, they went out to play together. Finally, the day came to present the banners to the whole school. All the students sat on the gymnasium floor, waiting their turn. Ayumi, Takashi, and Laurel nervously, but proudly, read the characters that danced in black ink down their long, white banner: “tozai nanboku.” Ayumi and Takashi stepped forward and added, “Tozai nanboku no tomodachi.” While the entire student body clapped, Ayumi whispered to Laurel, “We said that we are now ‘friends from all over the world.’” Laurel beamed. She knew she had won something even more special than a contest.

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Storytime, day 25

Early to Bed to Catch a Fly Written by Phyllis N. Lake

When Fred Frog was just a tadpole, he heard old Grandfather Frog croak, “Early to bed to catch a fly.” So Fred Frog said it, too, but he didn’t know why. His friends laughed. “We stay up late. It’s great! We swim by the light of the moon and eat flying bugs. Yum.” But as the sun started to sink over the hill, Fred leaped to his lily pad home in the pond. On the big flat leaf he sat and waited for his bedtime snack. Soon a small fly buzzed by. Fred Frog flicked out his long sticky tongue and snagged that fly and swallowed it. He patted his tummy and said, “Yum!” Fred Frog stretched out on his lily pad. He closed his eyes tight. The sun winked and slid over the hill for the night. With the first light in the morning sky, Fred Frog sat up and said, “I’m hungry.” Nothing buzzed. Nothing flew. No fly came by. In the smooth pond Fred Frog saw the fading moon. Where he dove into the mirrorlike pond small circles grew larger till they hit the shore. Fred Frog leaped up the bank. From his perch in the pine tree, Old Grey Owl asked, “Whooooo?” “It’s me, Fred Frog.” “Oooooo, you’re an early frog.” “I always say, ‘Early to bed to catch a fly.’” Fred Frog said it but he didn’t know why. “Oooooo, nooooo!” said Old Grey Owl. “Early to bed to be wise, like meeeee.”

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From New York, USA

“Oh? What is wise?” asked Fred Frog, but Old Grey Owl had flown away to sleep all day in his hollow tree home. Now Fred Frog was very hungry. He waited. No fly came by. The sun peeped over the trees. Still he waited. Still no fly buzzed by. Robin landed on the grassy edge of the pond. “You’re up early, Fred Frog,” said Robin as she hopped here and there. “I always say, ‘ Early to bed to catch a fly,’” said Fred Frog. He said it but he didn’t know why. “Oh, no!” said Robin. “The early bird catches the worm.” Robin cocked her head to one side, drove her beak deep into the soft brown earth. Out came a long, red, wriggling nightcrawler. “Ugh! Worms!” said Fred Frog. Robin flew away to feed her hungry babies. The sun’s face lit the pond. Fred Frog was very, very, very hungry. Still he waited. Nothing buzzed. Nothing flew. No fly came by. “My sleeping friends are right. I should stay up at night.” He turned to leap away when – “Buzzzzzzz.” The biggest fly Fred Frog had ever seen landed on the dewy grass. Lickety-split Fred Frog wrapped his long sticky tongue around that big, fat, juicy fly and tucked it into his wide mouth. “Oh my! Oh my! Yum. Yum! Early to bed to catch a fly.” He always said it and now he knew why.

Bonus Story, day 25

Just a Minute Written by Sharon Mayhew

One day Jill walked over to her friend Maria’s house. She knocked but after one minute no one answered the door, so Jill started to walk away. Just then she heard a voice calling, “Just a minute, just a minute.” Jill waited, but after two minutes no one answered the door, so Jill started to walk away. Just then she heard the same voice calling, “Just a minute, just a minute.” Jill waited again, but after three minutes no one answered the door, so Jill started to walk away. Just then she heard the voice calling, “Just a minute, just a minute.” “I’ve already waited six minutes.” Jill called back. “Just a minute, just a minute.” The voice said. Jill waited a little bit longer, but after four minutes no one answered the door. Jill started to walk away. Once again the voice called out, “Just a minute, just a minute.” Jill was beginning to feel angry. “I have been waiting for ten minutes now.” She yelled. “Just a minute, just a minute.” The voice said. “Is Maria home?” Jill asked. “Just a minute, just a minute.” The voice said. Jill didn’t want to wait one more minute. So she started to walk away. As she stepped off the porch, Jill noticed that the side window on Maria’s house was open. She could hear the voice calling from the window, “Just a minute, just a minute.”

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Jill walked over to the window. She wanted to tell who ever was in the house that she had already waited ten minutes. Jill peered in the window. She didn’t see anyone. All she could see was a parrot in a cage hanging by the window. I wonder who keeps telling me to wait a minute?” Jill thought. “Hello, Hello.” Jill called in the window. “Is Maria home?” Just then the parrot whistled and called out, “Just a minute, just a minute.” Jill realized she had been tricked by the bird. “You naughty bird.” Jill said. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes because of you.” Suddenly the parrot screeched, “Polly wants a cracker, Polly wants a cracker.” Jill laughed out loud and answered, “Just a minute, just a minute.”

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Storytime, day 26

Out of the darkness Written by Chris Shanley-Dillman

“This is fun! Moose and I have never been to a campfire before,” said Rose as she ruffled the soft ears of her Seeing Eye dog lying next to her. “The fire feels so warm and alive; I can almost imagine seeing it!” My cousin Rose and her dog had come to visit for the weekend, and my friend, Andie, had the ingenious idea of a moonlit campfire. Although, the moon seemed to have missed the invitation, I thought, glancing up at the thick clouds covering the sky. “Julia, you’re not still worried about getting in trouble?” Andie asked. “I told you my parents will be out until late, and my older brother doesn’t care what we do as long as we stay out of his way.” “No, that’s not—” Moose stood, a low warning growl escaping from his throat, the hairs on his back standing on end. “Rose,” I asked, my heart beating faster, “what’s wrong with him?” Rose turned her head, listening. “Someone’s coming.” I strained to hear what Rose and Moose had heard. There! Footsteps in the leaf litter! But who…or what? “Who’s there?” Andie called nervously. “Michael, is that you?” I yelled, hoping Andie’s brother had come to check on us. “Oh, little girls…” a voice whispered out from the trees. Andie and I shrieked and cowered behind Moose who’d exchanged his warning growl for threat-filled barking. Someone laughed, spoiling the effect. A laugh I recognized. Anger pushed my fear aside. “Larry! That wasn’t funny!” Two guys stumbled into the firelight, doubled over in laughter. “What’s going on?” whispered Rose. “It’s Larry, and his tagalong, Tyler,” I muttered in her ear. Rose hesitantly reassured Moose, who sat down obediently, though still growled warningly under his breath.

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From Michigan, USA

“You shoulda seen your face!” Larry mimicked a look of terror before popping a handful of marshmallows in his mouth. Suddenly, the clouds crashed open with a boom of thunder and a downpour of pounding rain. Andie shrieked again, and the campfire extinguished with a loud and smoky hiss. “Come on!” Larry yelled. “Run, girls!” Andie followed the guys. I hesitated, glancing towards the house lights beckoning through the drenching rain, but I couldn’t abandon Andie. I grabbed Rose’s hand, and with her other hand secured on Moose’s harness, we stumbled through the darkness after the others. “Andie! Where’d you go?” I couldn’t hear anything, and with the rain streaming in my eyes and the darkness all around, a small spark of fear and a big flick of annoyance started to grow. Then a flash of lightning lit up our path and I saw Andie waving to us from cover. As we arrived, breathless and soaked, I realized we stood in a cave! The guys held flashlights that cast shadows against the damp, rocky walls. “You okay?” I asked Rose. She nodded while Moose shook his coat, sending cold droplets in every direction. “Hey! Control your dog!” Larry yelled. “Yeah, like you’re not already soaked anyway,” I defended Moose. “Where are we?” asked Rose. “A cave.” I peered out into the storm, shivering, wishing we’d run to Andie’s house instead. “What’s back there?” Andie pointed towards the back of the cave. “Dunno,” Larry answered. “Let’s check it out.” “Awesome!” Tyler agreed. “Cave exploring!” “The blind girl oughta stay here,” Larry ordered.

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“She has a name,” I retorted. “And I don’t slow anyone down,” Rose replied steadily. “So, are you coming or not?” Larry paced, impatient to start. “Please?” Andie pleaded. “We have to wait out the storm anyway. And besides, walking will keep us warm.” Neither Rose nor I thought it a very smart idea, but we reluctantly agreed. Tyler and Larry lit the way with flashlights while we followed close behind. The cave narrowed and dropped, descending down into the earth. I stumbled and tripped on the uneven ground. I’m not sure how, but Rose seemed to be spelunking just fine with one hand on Moose’s harness and the other stretched out to the side, her fingers trailing along the damp wall. As we arrived at a fork in the tunnel, Larry whipped out a pocketknife and started scratching an arrow into the soft rock to indicate our direction. “Hey, man,” Tyler stopped him. “I saw on some nature channel that you shouldn’t damage caves. It’s like, scarring them for life.” “It’s true,” Rose spoke. “I read about it in school.” “Oh, so the blind girl can read,” Larry muttered. “Yes I can, and quit damaging the cave!” Larry mumbled something under his breath, but at the next intersection, he stacked a pile of rocks to indicate direction instead. I patted Rose on the back. We twisted and turned, ducked and descended, squatted and scrambled deeper into the cave. I was glad Larry had thought to mark our way because between us and the surface were too many passages to count. It would be far too easy to get completely lost in this underground maze. “Whoa!” “Awesome!” I spun around, slipping on the muddy ground. The tight tunnel had opened into a huge auditoriumsized cavern with cone-shaped towers rising from the ground and hanging from the ceiling. Ribbons of rock formations seemed frozen in mid-wave along the walls. The entire cavern’s floor shimmered with an underground lake reflecting the flashlights’ beam. I whispered a description to Rose,

while a thirsty Moose lapped noisily, sending ripples out across the lake. “I’m thirsty, too,” Andie murmured wistfully. “Go ahead,” Larry waved at the lake. “Just watch out for dog backwash!” “Eeew, that’s gross!” Andie scrunched up her face. “Besides, the water’s all muddy, and…and there’s things swimming around in there!” “Fish,” I squatted down to take a closer look. “And they have no eyes!” “Blind cave fish,” Rose offered. “I’ve read about them. They live in complete darkness, so they have no need for eyes.” “Miss Bookworm speaks again,” Larry muttered. “I don’t hear you saying anything interesting,” I retorted. “That’s ‘cause I’m a guy of action! Watch me shimmy up this cone thing!” “Stop! If that cone thing is what I think it is, touching it would endanger it.” “She’s right,” Tyler reluctantly spoke. “Stag…stalite…” “Stalactites and stalagmites,” Rose supplied. “They form from mineral deposits left behind in water droplets. They take years to form. The oils on your skin would halt any new growth.” “So Tyler, you’re joining the goody-goody club now? Fine.” Larry turned to leave. “Wait,” Tyler grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave. Rose is right; we can have fun without destroying the cave.” “Quit fooling around, Larry. Come back here and turn your flashlight back on.” “What are you talking about? I didn’t turn it off.” He shined his light in my face to prove it. So maybe he hadn’t turned it off, but it sure was dim. “Larry, are your batteries dying?” We all crowded close, and sure enough, the light faded before our eyes. “Tyler,” Larry spoke nervously, “I sure hope you used fresh batteries in your flashlight, or we could be in trouble.” Tyler slowly shook his head. “Let’s get out of here!” I turned back, splashing water with my step. “Hey, that water wasn’t here a minute ago.” While we’d been arguing, water had seeped in, flooding the footpath. “Oh, how could I be so stupid?”

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Storytime, day 26 continued

Rose thumped her forehead with her palm. “All that rain outside has to go somewhere, and it’s soaking down through the ground, into the cave! It’s completely possible that this entire cavern could flood!” “We’re gonna drown…in the dark?” Andie’s voice rose in panic, echoing off the walls. A flutter of wings took flight near our heads, and we all ducked. “Bats!” screeched Andie. “Calm down!” I yelled. “Bats won’t hurt us.” “No, but getting lost in a pitch dark, flooding cave won’t be too pleasant,” Tyler pointed out. “Let’s go!” We trudged through the deepening water, already ankle deep and rising fast. Struggling to see, I fought the rising panic. I clamped a tight grip onto Rose’s free hand, and her fingers felt like icicles. It happened so gradually, that at first I didn’t notice. Tyler stopped and banged the flashlight against his palm. “Batteries are dying.” We doubled our efforts, but the going was too slow. We weren’t going to make it. Tyler paused again. “What now?” We’d arrived at an intersection. Tyler felt below the water level for the rock pile, but the floodwaters had knocked over our directions. “I don’t remember which way. It all looks the same.” No one spoke. The light slowly faded, and then disappeared. Andie screamed. “What happened?” demanded Rose. I literally could not see my hand in front of my eyes. Pitch darkness surrounded me, filled me. I couldn’t breathe. Tyler threw the flashlight in frustration, and it bounced off the wall and landed in the water with a splash. “We’re dead,” Larry yelled. “We’re stinking dead!” “Quiet everyone!” Rose said. “I have an idea.” It took a moment for everyone to quiet down. And even then my heart pounded so loud in my ears that I had trouble hearing. “So now we’re all blind,” Rose began, “but I think maybe Moose—”

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“Yeah, the dog!” Larry cried. “He can see—” “No, even dogs can’t see in complete darkness. But he can smell. He can follow our scent and lead us out.” “But the trail’s underwater,” wailed Andie. “He can’t smell underwater!” “No, but our scent is in the air. Plus I trailed my fingers along the cave wall. He can do it, I know he can!” “It’s worth a try,” Tyler said. Everyone hold on to the person in front of you.” “Moose, take us home!” Moose sniffed in the dark, then we moved forward, slowly, cautiously and blindly, one small soggy step at a time. I ran into walls, clobbered my noggin, banged my shins, stubbed my frozen toes; I felt bruised from top to bottom. Rose called out directions like, duck here, edge to the left, wiggle through here. We followed as best we could, all of us, save one, new to blindness. Was Moose even leading us in the right direction? Rose trusted him with her life, and whether the rest of us wanted to or not, we had to, as well. After forever, the trail began to rise. Soon we walked through mud instead of water, then on rocks, and then I smelled fresh rain-scented air. We made it! Everyone collapsed near the cave entrance in relief and exhaustion. When I could move, I crawled over to Moose and threw my arms around his warm furry neck. “Moose, you’re a hero!” Everyone praised and petted the canine for saving our lives. Then Larry cleared his throat. “Um, Rose, you did good, too.” Rose blushed at Larry’s unexpected praise. “We all did good,” she said. “But next time we go caving, let’s be more prepared.” Tyler nodded. “With extra flashlights and batteries.” “And a map!” I suggested. “An experienced guide would be helpful,” Andie added. “And a weather report,” Larry grunted, wringing muddy water out of his sock. “But we are gonna go again, right?” “Definitely!” Rose agreed with a big smile. Moose barked in agreement.

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Storytime, day 27

Magic Words Written by Jennifer M. Smith

Jake’s new job was simple: Walk Mr. Mooney’s sheepdog. The hard part was the trek to Mr. Mooney’s house. “Where ya headed, short stuff?” Billy Blunders, the oversized kid from down the street, poked a beefy finger into Jake’s chest. “Mr. Mooney’s house,” Jake said. His voice squeaked like a puppy’s chew toy. “You’re new to this neighborhood,” Billy said. “You don’t belong at Mr. Mooney’s house.” “I have to walk his sheepdog,” Jake said. Billy leaned in so close that Jake could smell his breath. “That’s my job.” Jake’s knees felt wobbly, like he was learning to rollerblade for the first time. “Mr. Mooney asked me to do it.” “Well,” Billy said, “consider yourself fired!” Jake tried to step past Billy, but Billy’s foot was fast. Jake tripped and sprawled across the warm cement. He scrambled to his feet and ran back home. “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow!” Billy called after him. “And every day after that!” Jake’s breath came in gasps as he let the front door slam behind him. If I don’t walk the dog, Mr. Mooney won’t give me jobs, he thought. Then I won’t have money for basketball camp. Not to mention that Billy Blunders was going to be in Jake’s grade at his new school. If Billy was a bully now, imagine how he’d be with all the kids watching! Jake heard music filtering down the stairs from his brother Jamon’s room. This calls for a little teamwork! he thought. The next day, when it was time to walk Mr. Mooney’s sheepdog, Jake put on his bright yellow basketball jersey and walked into the warm

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From Texas, USA

sunshine. Billy was standing by Jake’s mailbox. “You must love torture,” he said. Jake squared his shoulders. His heart pounded like a thousand dogs thumping their tails on a wooden floor. “I’m not scared of you.” Billy raised a bushy eyebrow. “Why not?” “I can walk the dog whether you let me or not,” Jake said. “I know magic.” Billy threw back his head and laughed. “All right, you asked for it,” Jake said. “Abracadabra!” he yelled. Then for good measure, he said it backwards. “Arbadacarba!” Billy stopped laughing and stepped back. “Are you crazy?” Jake walked up the steps of his front porch. “You just watch!” he said. Inside, he crouched by the big picture window. From there, he could see Billy still standing by the mailbox. A boy was coming down the street walking a sheepdog. He looked exactly like Jake. He wore a bright yellow jersey. As he passed Billy, he waved. Billy’s jaw dropped. “Huh—how?” The boy grinned. “I told you I know magic.” Billy’s lips quivered. “You—you’re crazy!” he sputtered. He turned and started back towards his house, throwing occasional glances over his shoulder. The boy finished walking the dog. Then he hopped Jake’s fence and met him in the backyard. “Good work, Jamon!” Jake said. Jamon gave Jake a high-five and handed him a backpack. It contained a blonde wig and the huge sunglasses Jamon had worn to Mr. Mooney’s house. “What will we do at school when he finds out we’re identical twins?” Jamon asked. Jake grinned. “I have a feeling Billy Blunders will be too embarrassed to do anything at all.”

Storytime, day 28

Betsy and the White Faces by Catharine DeSwardt

If I can just get to the outhouse and back, then I will be okay. I know they can’t see me. Betsy’s heart beat quickly while she stood with her back against the wall. I really need to use the toilet before I go to bed. It was pitch dark outside, there was only one light bulb dangling over the patio door, swaying in the breeze. She froze as she heard the singing from a distance, up in the hills, miles from here. They were singing their traditional tribal songs: “Ooooh! Ooooh! Dumm, Dumm!” It was that time of year when the Ndebele tribe came to her dad’s farm to visit their ancestors’ burial ground, to pay respect to the deceased. Betsy crouched and sprinted to the outhouse. Her heart thumped in her chest. The flashlight made a pathway in the dark. She quickly used the toilet and ran back to the house, locking the door behind her. Once inside, she couldn’t hear the echo of their voices any more. The next day Betsy played with her friends, who lived across the fence from their farm. They played hopscotch and traded pictures they drew at school. Vroom! Chugga chugga. Vroom! A vehicle trailing dust came up the road. Inside the truck were a dozen Ndebele, maybe more, squeezed into the

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seats and flatbed. Betsy saw their white painted faces and their naked ebony bodies covered with loin cloths. The men held spears. Betsy jumped up and ran to hide behind a tall tuft of grass. Her heart skipped a beat as she crouched, frozen on legs that felt like jelly. What if they come after me? she thought. Her friends waved at the people in the truck as it sped passed them, disappearing around the corner. Betsy jumped up. She ran as fast as she could to the potato patch where her dad worked. She shivered. “Dad, they were driving really fast, like maniacs!” Dad walked Betsy home where Grams gave her a hug. “I was so scared,” Betsy whispered to her grandmother. “Why do they paint their faces like ghosts?” “It is part of their tradition,” Grams said. “It’s a way of showing respect like when we put flowers on grandfather’s grave.” Betsy frowned. “We don’t paint our faces to do that.” “No,” Grams said. “But we do put on special clothes, dress clothes. That’s our way.” Betsy nodded but still thought the Ndebele were strange and scary. For the rest of the day, she stayed far away from the road, playing in the house with her

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favorite doll. Later that afternoon she headed to the barn to feed her pet lamb, clutching her doll under her arm. As she walked around to the back, she spotted Dad standing in the drive, talking to a stranger in a jacket and pants. “Thank you,” the man said, “For giving us access to the burial lands of our ancestors.” Next to the man, a little girl stood playing with a necklace made from small animal bones. She had bright beads braided into her black hair. She saw Betsy approaching and gave her a big smile. Her dad beckoned her to join them. “Betsy, this is Mister Dlamini, he is the tribal leader of the Ndebeles. This is his daughter, Vusi. They are leaving today.” “Oh. Hallo.” was all Betsy could utter. They look so different now. Very gently, Vusi stretched her hand out to touch Betsy’s shoulder-length blonde hair. “Vusi can’t speak English, and she has never seen blonde hair before. May she?” asked Mr. Dlamini. “Sure,” Betsy was hesitant at first, but when she saw the eager look in the girl’s brown eyes, she bent over and let her touch her hair. “Inwele yakhe ifana nje ngoboya bonogwala.” “She said your hair feels like the fur of a hare,” Her father translated. She is just a little girl, Betsy thought, and almost as tall as I am. Betsy saw Vusi staring at the doll in her hands. “You can have it.” She shoved it into Vusi’s hands

Vusi’s smile lit up her face. Her eyes sparkled. She curtsied and mumbled something. Betsy knew that must have been “Thank you.” Vusi took her necklace from her neck and gave it to Betsy. “Wow! Is this for me? Thank you!” Betsy beamed. Vusi and her dad turned around and headed for the truck. Betsy and her dad waved as the truck headed towards the gravel road. “Dad, next year when they come, maybe Vusi and I can play together? I think that will be fun.”

Make Friends Topic: Making new friends Ndebele are a tribal people who live in South Africa and Zimbabwe. They are one of the many tribal people who live in the area, and theirs is just one of the eleven official languages spoken in South Africa. Why was Betsy scared of the Ndebele people? Do you think Vusi, the Ndebele girl was scared of white people? How did the girls become friends? How can you make friends with new people you meet?

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Storytime, day 29

Jenny’s Rainy Day Friends Written by Kathryn Lynn Carroll

Jenny watched raindrops splatter against the glass and sighed. “There’s nothing to do,” she complained to her mom. “Why don’t you call your friends and see if they can come over,” her mom suggested. Jenny shook her head. “Nobody’s home today,” she said. “Cassie has art class, Amanda’s visiting her grandma, and Conor’s dad is taking him to the dinosaur museum.” “We could read your new book together,” Jenny’s mom said, “or bake cookies.” “No thanks,” Jenny said. What she really wanted to do was play Dance Jam with her friends. It was their favorite game. They loved to listen to music and teach each other new dance routines. If the song was slow, they swayed and twirled. If the song was fast, they wiggled and twisted and shook and jumped. “Well, you’ll think of something,” her mom said. “You have a good imagination.” Jenny considered all the things she might do. She could draw or put together a puzzle or play with her toys. She supposed she could even clean her room. No, she could certainly think of something better than that. She watched the trees in her yard bending with the wind and the leaves swirling in the air. She listened to the rain tat-tat-tatting against the window and realized she was tapping her fingers in rhythm with it. Suddenly, Jenny had an idea. As the trees swayed with the wind, she swayed along with them. When the branches blew back and forth, she raised her arms and waved them side to side and all around. She shook

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From Connecticut, USA

her hands and wiggled her fingers in time with the quivering leaves, and when falling leaves soared through the air, she twirled on her toes and tumbled to the ground. Jenny was spinning and giggling when her mom walked through the room and stopped to watch. “That looks fun,” her mom said. “It is,” Jenny exclaimed. “The trees are teaching me a new dance routine.” “That’s very creative,” her mom said. When the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, the rain quieted, the trees stood still, and the leaves settled to the ground. Jenny was sad to see the storm end, but she couldn’t wait to show Amanda, Cassie, and Conor the new dance she’d learned from her rainy-day friends. Right now, though, a snack sure sounded tasty. “Hey, Mom,” Jenny called, “can we still make those cookies?”

DANCE LIKE A TREE 1. To become a tree, stand up and raise your arms over your head. 2. Sway, bend, and twist your whole body. 3. Wave your arms up and down, side to side and back and forth. 4. Make quivering leaves by shaking your hands and wiggling your fingers. 5. To swirl like a falling leaf, twirl on your toes. 6. Somersault or roll on the ground to be a leaf tumbling across the grass.

Storytime, day 30

The Little White Lie Written by Candida Sullivan

It was a normal day. Jordon met Thomas for breakfast in the cafeteria at school. But somewhere between a bite of pancake and a sip of milk, things changed. Jordon didn’t mean to lie. He just opened his mouth and it floated out. Tomorrow, everyone would expect him to ride his bike at Thomas’s birthday party. But Jordon lied. He couldn’t ride a bike. Even with training wheels. Jordon felt bad. He decided to tell the truth on the playground. Right after he went down the slide once more. “I need to tell you something,” Jordon whispered to Thomas. Thomas stopped swinging and looked at him. Jordon looked down at his shoes. “Is it a secret?” Thomas asked. Jordon shrugged his shoulders and then nodded his head. “I can’t ride my bike…. without,” Jordon paused and looked at Thomas. “Kneepads!” he finally blurted out. Thomas smiled. The bell rang and Thomas ran toward the school. Jordon had lied again. He didn’t have any kneepads. “Thomas!” Jordon yelled. Thomas stopped and looked at him. “I can’t ride my bike without…” Jordon paused. The truth was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it. “Gloves!” he finally said. Thomas looked a little confused, and Jordon had lied again. His one little white lie had somehow multiplied.

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Jordon couldn’t eat his dinner. Or pet his dog’s head. He pouted and tried not to think about the party. He considered pretending to be sick. Then Thomas would understand why he didn’t come to his party. But it would be a lie. Plus his mom might make him go to the doctor. He didn’t want a shot or yucky medicine. He lay in his bed and tried to think of a way to tell the truth without everyone knowing he had lied. But he fell asleep before he came up with a solution. The next day, Jordon was nervous, especially when he was sitting in Thomas’s driveway. His stomach hurt. He swallowed twice, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away. He wanted to cry when his dad pulled his bike from the truck. His dad sat his bike beside the garage, and walked Jordon to the door. Just as Thomas opened the door, it started to rain. Jordon smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell the truth, after all. The rain ruined Thomas’s party. No one showed up except for Jordon. Thomas was sad. Jordon was happy. At least now, no one would know he had lied. After they ate cake, it was time for the presents. There were only a few. But the one in the corner was huge. Jordon watched with excitement as Thomas sent the paper flying. Jordon blinked and almost choked on his cake. He stared at the blue bike with training wheels. Thomas was so excited.

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He hopped on his bike and raced for the garage. “Come on, Jordon, bring your bike. Dad said we could ride in the garage,” Thomas said. Jordon dawdled as he went to get his bike. He pushed it into the garage. Thomas’s mouth flew open when he saw the training wheels. “I thought you could ride without training wheels,” Thomas said. Jordon looked at his friend. He thought of several excuses, but when he opened his mouth, the truth finally came out. “I can’t ride a bike! Even with training wheels,” Jordon blurted out. “Why did you lie?” Thomas asked. “I didn’t want you to think I was a baby,” Jordon said. “I would never think that about you,” Thomas said. “Now we can learn to ride together. But what will we tell the kids at school?” “The truth!” Jordon blurted out.

Talk Time: Topic: Honesty Discuss the following questions with your child to help them understand why honesty is important. Try to use examples they can relate to, either from your own life, or from situations they may find themselves in. What is honesty? Honesty means to tell the truth, to be sincere, and to not trick people into believing something that is false. Why is it important to be honest? Why did Jordon lie? (He felt like his friends would think he was a baby if he couldn’t ride without training wheels.) Has anyone ever lied to you? How did it feel? Is it hard to trust someone who has lied to you before? Encourage your child to make a decision today to be honest.

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Storytime, Bonus Story

Just A Cook Written by Julie Musil

“Hey Cody, wanna trade?” my friend Jacob asked me. “No way,” I said. “I don’t want to eat your tuna sandwich for lunch.” “Whatever,” he replied, as usual. It was lunchtime on Friday. If the weather was nice, they’d let us eat outside. Not that it’s such a big privilege, but we’ll take what we can get. Jacob groaned, “Oh great, here comes that geek, Anthony.” I wouldn’t say geek, maybe just kind of weird; different than the rest of us. Anthony tried hard to fit in, but struggled with that. I’d say “Hi” or “What’s up” to him in the mornings, but we didn’t hang out together. Anthony approached our table, his lunch tray in his hands. “This table is for the cool kids, so you can’t sit here,” Jacob said. Anthony glanced around the table at each of us. Was he looking for one of us to defend him? Head down and looking defeated, he turned and walked away. I don’t know why Jacob said that. I felt bad, even ashamed. Why didn’t I speak up and say something? There was plenty of room at the table. Even if there wasn’t, we could have made room. I just kept quiet, and even snickered along with my friends. I didn’t want to cause problems for myself, and didn’t want to be the one left out. But I felt like a chicken. After school, Grandma picked me up. I was staying at her house for the weekend, while Mom and Dad celebrated their anniversary. Since Grandpa died last year, Grandma liked having me over; I guess I

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kept her company. I like staying in her small yellow house with the American Flag flying from the front porch. While I ate my after school snack, Grandma asked me how my day went at school. “Fine,” I replied cryptically. But as grown-ups tend to do, she started asking me more questions. Soon I spilled my guilty guts about what had happened at lunch that day. “Do you wish you had done something about it?” she asked. “What could I do about it? I’m no super hero; I’m just a kid.” Grandma sat across from me at the table, folding her hands in front of her. “Mmm, just a kid, huh? Did Grandpa ever tell you his story about how he received his Medal of Honor during World War II?” “No,” I said. “Whenever I’d ask him about what action he’d seen, he’d just say he didn’t do anything special. That he was just a cook.” “Ah,” Grandma sighed. “Heroes rarely tell their own story. Let me tell you something I learned from one of Grandpa’s fellow sailors, and maybe you’ll find it helpful. During the war,” she began, “Grandpa’s Navy ship was stationed in the Pacific. At the time, they’d heard of Japanese planes purposely crashing into the sides of ships. They called them ‘kamikaze planes’. Do you know what those were?” “Yeah, I’ve read about them,” I answered. “The pilots who flew those missions knew they would die in the crash. They thought it was worth it though; for honor, and because when they hit the ship, it

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would probably sink the whole thing.” “That’s right,” Grandma said. “It was likely every sailor would die. Well, one day the lookouts on Grandpa’s ship sounded the alarm and it was all hands on deck. They had seen Zeroes, Japanese planes, approaching. When Grandpa ran up from the kitchen, he noticed these planes looked to be protecting one of their own in the middle. This center plane flew straight toward the ship, at a downward angle. Grandpa immediately began firing a mounted .50 caliber gun, aiming his shots straight for the plane in the middle of the swarm.” I imagined gunfire pinging against his metal ship, and the screams of his fellow sailors ringing in his ears. Grandma said, “He never wavered from that center plane. As it drew closer, Grandpa finally hit it. The Zero exploded, and spiraled into the ocean.” “No way,” I said, surprised. “Yes way,” said Grandma. “As his friend told me, your Grandpa saved thousands of lives. His determined focus on that center plane took it down, before it sank their ship.” Grandma paused, then continued, “You see Cody, it took a lot of courage and good instincts to accomplish what he did. Yes, he was just a cook, but he was a hero to many others that day.” Wow. I took that story and replayed it over and over in my head all weekend. I knew what Grandma was trying to tell me: be brave, be a hero to someone else. Still, I wasn’t sure I could do what needed to be done. Monday at lunch, Anthony made his way over to our table again. Talk about determined. “Scram,” Jacob said to him this time, with a flick of his head. Anthony looked down, and began to walk away. “Why can’t he sit here, he’s no

different than any of us,” I said, as I scooted over to make room for Anthony. “Here, you can sit by me.” Had I just said that? I couldn’t believe it! Anthony looked relieved and came to sit by me, as I waited for the wrath of my friends. Surely they would tease me for sticking up for this kid. Instead, Jacob muttered, “Whatever,” and continued to eat his lunch in silence. I was excited about what had happened. As soon as I got home from school, I called Grandma to tell her about it. “Cody, I’m proud of you,” she said. “I have a feeling you’re a hero in someone else’s eyes today.” I had a new respect for my Grandpa, and wished he was alive so I could tell him. I even had a new respect for myself, which is pretty mature, for being just a kid.

Talk Time: Topic: Be a hero! How did Cody become a hero to Anthony? How do you think Anthony felt when the other kids were mean to him? Are there things you can do to be a hero to someone in your school class? Do you think that Jacob and the other kids treated Anthony different after Cody was nice to him? Why or why not?

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Storytime, Bonus Story

A Fair Trade Written by Diane Smit

Matthew kicked his new ball all around his backyard. Up and down the yard he ran, as fast as his legs could go. Bam! He kicked the ball as hard as he could, and off it went through the pylons at the end of the yard. “He scores,” Matthew shouted. He couldn’t wait to show his neighbor, Jeremy, the soccer ball Grandpa had given him for his birthday. Jeremy was his neighbor, and Matthew liked having a friend next door to play with. Matthew found Jeremy playing in his sandbox. As usual, he was surrounded with his cars and trucks. “Hi Jeremy,” Matthew said as he looked over the fence. “What are you building today?” Jeremy looked up. “I’m building a road with the new truck my Dad gave me,” Jeremy said. He pointed to his shiny new red truck. Matthew looked at the truck in surprise. It was the same truck he had wanted for his birthday the month before, but didn’t receive. Putting the soccer ball aside, Matthew climbed into the sandbox. “Can I help you build your road?” he asked. Jeremy grinned and showed Matthew how his new truck moved mounds of sand. Zoom! Zoom! Zoom! How smooth its wheels were as it rolled in and around the mounds of sand. Suddenly, Matthew wished Grandpa had given him the truck instead of the soccer ball. Matthew had an idea. He picked

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From Beamsville, Ontario, Canada

up his soccer ball and gave it to Jeremy. “How do you like my new soccer ball?” Matthew asked. Jeremy looked at the ball and grinned. “I wish I could have a soccer ball like yours.” Matthew smiled. “Well, seeing that you like it so much, I can give it to you for a fair trade.” “What’s a fair trade?” Jeremy asked. “A fair trade is when we each give each other something to keep,” Matthew continued. “I’ll give you my new ball if you give me your new truck.” Jeremy’s smile fell. “You mean, for keeps?” “Awe, come on Jeremy, you won’t miss one truck,” Matthew said. Jeremy looked at his shiny red truck. Then he looked at the soccer ball in his hands. “But my Dad gave this truck to me,” stammered Jeremy. “And my Grandpa gave me this ball,” Matthew said. “That will make it a fair trade.” Jeremy thought for a moment then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You can have my truck and I will keep your ball.” When the trade was made, Matthew felt something strange come over him. What would his mother say when she saw the truck? And what would Grandpa think? Slowly, the joy of the fair trade began to fade. He tried to ignore the feelings, but they wouldn’t go away.

At supper, Matthew found it hard to eat. His stomach churned. When the supper dishes were cleaned up, Matthew’s dad asked him if he wanted to play soccer. Matthew felt ashamed when he said, “No, I don’t feel like it.” Dad looked puzzled. “I thought you liked playing soccer.” Then Matthew knew he had to tell Dad what he did. He explained about the trade. Afterwards Dad said quietly, “Do you think it was a fair trade?” “No,” said Matthew shaking his head. “I feel like I cheated Jeremy out of something special. And I feel like I cheated Grandpa and myself too.” “What do you think you should do about it?” Dad asked. “Tell Jeremy I’m sorry and see if he’ll undo the trade,” Matthew said sadly. Just then the phone rang. “We’re very sorry this happened, and Matthew is too,” Jeremy heard his dad say. “We’ll come over and make things right.” When he hung up the phone, he looked at Matthew. “That was Jeremy’s mother. Jeremy is upset because he misses his truck.” After the exchange was made, both boys smiled at each other. They also agreed to play soccer together the next day. At home Dad said, “I’m glad that your conscience was working as it should, Matthew.” Matthew was puzzled. “What’s a conscience?” he asked. “It’s the little voice that speaks inside your heart to tell you what’s right and wrong. Your conscience will bother you when something’s not right. If it’s trained correctly, it will help you make good choices.” Matthew thought for a moment. A conscience sounded like a helpful friend. He gave a sigh of relief. “I’m sure glad I have a conscience and that I listened to it.”

Time To Vote! Can you believe it? One whole month of storytelling has flown by. Vote for your favorites here:

www.knowonder.com/vote The top 3 stories & artwork will win prizes worth hundreds of dollars. Even more important, you’ll be giving these authors the validation they’ve been looking for - that they really are talented writers & artists, and that you love what they are doing! Voting closes by the 10th of next month, so hurry and vote before it’s too late.

Time To Submit! If you’ve been looking for an opportunity to get your own stories published, you’ve found it at knowonder! magazine. Not only can you become a published author and earn cash prizes, you’ll also know that you are helping a cause that is literally empowering thousands of families across the world. Literacy, together-time, creativity and imagination... become a part of it today by submitting your own work at:

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For Kids by Kids

This is the wonderful and whimsical section in which we proudly display the amazing artwork submitted by our very own little readers. Every month we will include all new submissions that we recieve through our online page at www.knowonder.com Inspire your child’s imagination™ and submit their artwork today! Also, don’t forget to vote for your favorite artwork! The top three winners will win prizes worth hundreds of dollars. Prizes may include art supplies, books and more, so go to www.knowonder.com/vote today to vote for your favorite artist.

Title: “The Very Small Fairy” Name, Age: Mary, 7 yrs. old Favorite Food: Potatoe Soup Favorite Activity: Run & Gymnastics Favorite Animal: Hippo

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Title: “BBR” Name, Age: Brandt, 4 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Art Favorite Hobby: Playing Outside Favorite Animals: Lions & Tigers

Title: “I Love to Sing” Name, Age: Anna, 9 yrs. old Favorite Animal: Eagle Favorite Color: Turquoise Favorite Food: Shrimp

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Title: “Turkey Hand” Name, Age: Joshua, 7 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Math Favorite Color: Blue Favorite Hobby: Soccer

Title: “I Love Halloween” Name, Age: Owen, 8 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: School work Favorite Animal: Monkey Favorite Subject: Games

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Title: “Christmas Tree and Butterflies” Name, Age: Shaelie, 5 yrs. old Favorite Activity: Coloring Favorite Color: Purple Favorite Food: Spaghetti

Title: “Shark” Name, Age: Ty, 6 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Play with Friends Favorite Color: Red Favorite Animal: Dogs

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November 30, 2009

Title: “Hockey Player” Name, Age: Tyler, 10 yrs. old Favorite Food: Bacon Favorite Subject: Science Favorite Hobby: Hockey

Title: “Snowing in the Mountains” Name, Age: Christine, 9 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Reading & drawing Favorite Color: Turquoise Favorite Animal: Giraffe

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Title: “Raining Animals” Name, Age: Caely, 8 yrs. old Favorite Food: Watermelon Favorite Subject: Math Favorite Hobby: Reading

Title: “Aleea and Daddy” Name, Age: Aleea, 4 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Cartoons Favorite Hobby: Playing princess Favorite Animal: Horse

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Title: “Strong Man” Name, Age: Devan, 6 yrs. old Favorite Food: Quesadillas Favorite Hobby: Playing Legos Favorite Animal: Lion

Title: “Summer Day” Name, Age: Kensi, 6 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Art Favorite Activity: Recess Favorite Food: Watermelon

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Title: “The Honey Jar” Name, Age: Gabriel, 5 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Soccer Favorite Color: Green Favorite Animal: Tiger

Title: “Self-Portrait” Name, Age: Brandon, 12 yrs. old Favorite Animal: Whale Favorite Food: Beans Favorite Hobby: Soccer

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Title: “My Family with 15 Brothers and Sister!” Name, Age: Zach, 5 yrs. old Favorite Food: Nutella sandwiches Favorite Animal: Puppies Favorite Subject: Music

Title: “Thanksgiving Dinner” Name, Age: Daniel, 10 yrs. old Favorite Color: Orange Favorite Subject: Reading Favorite Food: Fettucini Alfredo

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Title: “Spring Time” Name, Age: Hailey, 7 yrs. old Favorite Food: Orange chicken Favorite Hobby: Dancing Favorite Animal: Rabbit

Title: “Playing Football with Friends” Name, Age: Reese, 7 yrs. old Favorite Food: Pizza Favorite Color: Gold Favorite Animal: Lion

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Title: “Finger Painting” Name, Age: Patch, 3 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Riding bikes Favorite Food: Cookies Favorite Animal: Moose

Title: “Picture of Mom and Brother at the Lake” Name, Age: Joshua, 6 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Taekwondo Favorite Animal: Dinosaurs Favorite Food: Chicken Nuggets with Honey Mustard

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Title: “My Family” Name, Age: Aurora, 5 yrs. old Favorite Food: Hot dogs Favorite Color: Blue Favorite Animal: Kittens

Title: “Baby” Name, Age: Alexa, 5 yrs. old Favorite Food: Bacon Favorite Activity: Loves to sing Favorite Subject: Reading

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Title: “Castle Town” Name, Age: Kyler, 8 yrs. old Favorite Animal: Cheetah Favorite Subject: Science Favorite Hobby: Climbing Trees

Title: “A Bomb” Name: Derek, 10 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Science Favorite Food: Pizza Favorite Animal: Monkey

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Title: “Me, Outside” Name, Age: Alden, 3 yrs. old Favorite Food: Pineapple Favorite Toy: Balls Favorite Animal: Tiger

Title: “Goalie” Name, Age: Ethan, 10 yrs. old Favorite Subject: Art Favorite Color: Red Favorite Hobby: Soccer

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Title: “Briana” Name, Age: Briana, 7 yrs. old Favorite Food: Corndogs Favorite Hobby: Jumprope Favorite Animal: Giraffe

Title: “Flower” Name, Age: Natalie, 5 yrs. old Favorite Food: Macaroni & Cheese Favorite Animal: Elephant Favorite Subject: Reading

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Title: “My House without Parents” Name, Age: Lilly, 4 yrs. old Favorite Food: Butter sandwiches Favorite Hobby: Reading & coloring Favorite Color: Purple

Title: “Sad Face” Name, Age: Trenton, 2 yrs. old Favorite Animal: Cow Favorite Hobby: Running Favorite Food: Candy

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Title: “Scribbles” Name, Age: Ali, 4 yrs. old Favorite Hobby: Dancing Favorite Food: Macaroni & Cheese Favorite Animals: Pink Elephants & Pink Dolphins

Title: “Family at Home” Name, Age: London, 5 yrs. old Favorite Animal: Cat Favorite Food: blue Favorite Activity: Playing outside with dogs

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For You by You

The Amazing Alphabet Adventure Written by Jane Cleere Johnson - mother of six, daycare provider & teacher

Perhaps that title sounds like it should be in the fiction section of this magazine. If it sounds like a story title, it is! It all began when I was expecting my third child in three years. My oldest, Amy, was two years old, and the baby was seven months old. I was ill. You know the kind of ill, where you hope your sweet husband cleaned the toilet bowl because you are going to be spending a lot of time in there leaning over the porcelain throne? I could barely move without a typhoon sized wave of nausea washing over me. My two year old wanted, needed, and deserved to be active. But there I was lying on the couch, hoping the baby, Becca-boo, would just sleep a bit longer so I could rest in my debilitated state. I’d read to Amy. We’d sing the alphabet song together. She’d watch Sesame Street. But she needed to be up and around, moving and learning. I didn’t even let her go out into our fenced backyard because I was too ill to get up off the couch. So, one day, or probably in the middle of the night, after getting up with the baby, I had a great idea. I put Becca back to bed and crept into the kitchen. Still nauseated but determined to provide my daughter with some fun learning experiences, I stayed up and prepared materials. These materials were simple and now, with the advent of internet clipart, would be even easier to make. First I drew two copies of each upper case and lower case letters of the alphabet on individual pieces of construction paper. Next, I drew pictures to correlate with each letter; just like you’d find in an alphabet book, but very simple. I taped (we didn’t have ticky-tacky back then) the capital letters on the walls all around the main area of our house. I made sure the letters were down low enough that Amy could take them off and bring them to me. When Amy got up in the morning, and after I gave her a good breakfast, (probably consisting of graham crackers and a sippy cup of milk, you know

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the days) I took my position on the couch, but this time I was armed! I told Amy she was going on a treasure hunt. I had her glance around the room at the letters on the wall and told her we were going to play a matching game; the letters were the treasures. I showed Amy the letter “A.” She knew it right away. She ran around the room until she found the matching capital “A.” Letting out a squeal of delight, she said “I found it mommy, I found ‘A’.” We continued this game for a long time; Amy never tired of taking a new letter from my hand, running around the room and finding its match. She didn’t know all of the letters of course but she learned to recognize them quickly and was telling me their names within a few days of doing this activity. As soon as Amy mastered matching capitals to capitals, I had her match lower case to lower case. Then she progressed to matching upper to lower, and finally, as we worked on sounds, she was able to match letters to pictures. This was an amazing activity that I used many times throughout the years with my children, even when I wasn’t ill. I expanded on the concept as I had my children, and later those in my daycare. I had them match baby and adult animals, colors to colors, color names to colored construction paper, and small shapes to corresponding large shapes.

MORE FUN! Another great game I dubbed Pennies for Picking Up. This game makes cleaning fun, gives children responsibility, and allows them to use fine and gross motor skills. You will need: * A bank * A toy box * Lots of toys (preferably that have been played with and strewn all over the room by your children). * Pennies in your hand As the children place the toys in the toy box make sure they count. They can pick up one toy at a time, or two, or a whole bunch while counting as they go. Then they get to come over to you and count out the amount of pennies; one for each toy. Then they get to put the pennies into their bank. I began this activity with Amy when she was only twenty months old; with careful supervision. This made her excited to put her money in her bank, not in her mouth!

As a mother of six children, daycare provider for several more and now teacher of hundreds, I know that children need to move. Since those days over twenty years ago, I have discovered research based practices that support my feelings about movement. I recommend Jean Blaydes Madigan and her website at www.actionbasedlearning.com. I recently had the pleasure of studying her methods in university level physical education for teachers course. Her manual, Thinking on Your Feet, 200+ Activities That Make Learning a Moving Experience, though generally used by teachers, serves as a valuable resource for parents who would like to add movement to the learning experience. So, get those brains going! Get those juices flowing! Get up and learn!

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Learning to Read outside the box Written by Sherry Denecker

Teaching children to read can be a challenge, especially if you have a child who does not take to the traditional methods of teaching. By using the art of “playing” you can step outside of the box and make reading fun for both you and your child. It can take some work, but will make learning much more exciting. Learning to read does not have to be a boring process. With a little imagination, you can turn play time into learning time. Take for example the well known “flash Cards” all of us have used to try to teach vocabulary words. What if instead of just holding up a flashcard and asking what it said, you made it into a card game. Try putting on your special “card playing hat”. Have your child sit across from you. Fan the cards out in your hand and say “pick a card…. any card!” Your child will pick a card and if he can tell you what the word is, he gets to keep it. If he can’t, you keep it. This type of game can be played with vocabulary words or math problems. Kids love the idea of playing cards, especially when they win! You can also place all of the cards face down on the table. Have the child select the card he wants to turn over. If he gives the correct answer, he keeps it. Most children are competitive and love to try to “beat” the teacher. If you are working with early readers, I suggest acquiring the Dolch Sight Word List. It is readily available online and contains 220 of the most widely used words in the English language. Children that can master this list will have a great foundation to build on. Take this list of words and use them to create stories of your own for your children to read. Use your child’s name in the story, kids love to see their name in print and pretend they are the character in the story. Food can also be used to teach reading. What child doesn’t like playing with food? Place a layer of chocolate pudding on a plate. Have your child use his finger to write words in the pudding. You can also use sand if you do not want to use pudding. Other foods can be used to spell words out as well; carrot sticks, pretzels, cheerios, anything that can be used to form letters. Experiment with different food items, then have fun snacking on them when you are finished. Children learn to read in two different ways. One way is the use of phonics skills to sound out words they do not know. The second way is by sight words. Many children, especially those who struggle with reading, do far better with sight words. Have you ever wondered why a very young child, who does not know how to read, is able to tell you a McDonald’s restaurant is coming up? Just as they recognize the arches and associate the word that goes with it, they can learn many words just by seeing them daily. Use index cards to label things around your house. Little by little, your child will start to associate the words with different objects. They will begin to learn the words with very little effort.

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Your computer can also be a valuable resource for teaching reading and spelling. Have your little one practice typing their spelling words on the computer. Most children love computer time, and this will not only help them with their reading and spelling, but also with their computer skills. Remember, most children these days will start computer classes in kindergarten. Try taking weekly spelling words and making a word search or a crossword puzzle. A great website to do this is at www.puzzle-maker.com . You can print off a new one each week with the current spelling words, and its free. You and your child could also make a board game. With a piece of cardboard and colored pens, you could make the actual board. Use colored spaces to mark places you will draw a card from (spelling words, sight words or math problems). Roll the dice to move from box to box. Be sure to make it interesting. Have some twists and turns in your game including losing a turn, moving back 3 spaces and jumping ahead. If a card is drawn and answered correctly, a bonus turn could be given. You make up the rules, and watch your child delight in playing while they are learning valuable skills. All kids love to be the one who has the correct answer in a school setting. “Playing school” with your child and several stuffed animals is another way to make learning fun. Be sure to make the stuffed animals occasionally give the wrong answer. This way your child will have the opportunity to raise their hand with the correct answer. This activity is great for a child who is shy or less-confident. Giving the correct answer will boost your child’s selfesteem even though you are in a pretend setting. You can also use your “pretend students” to have a mock spelling bee. Memory games also help with reading skills. Take several objects (pencil, ball, spoon, …) and place them on the table. Have your child study the objects for 30 seconds. Remove the objects and place them into a bag. See how many objects your child can remember. Make it harder and harder by adding more objects to the table. This little game is a great way to help with memory. You can also use your flash cards in this manner. Make two of each word, place them face down on the table. Have your child turn over one card, then try to pick the “match” to it by turning over a second card. If the cards match, they keep the cards. If they do not match, both cards are turned back over. Continue with the game until all cards are matched. A love of reading and learning is a gift that will last throughout a lifetime. Remember most importantly that children learn through example. Be sure to let your child see your love of learning by reading to them daily. Open their eyes to the magic of the written word and unlimited knowledge will be theirs. By incorporating playtime into learning time, many children who struggle with reading can gain the foundation they need to succeed in a skill they will enjoy for the rest of their lives.

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Rainy Day

Written by S.M. Ford

campout

The weather’s bad. The kids are tired of playing in the house. You’re tired of having them inside. You’ve run out of ideas to keep them happy and occupied. They’re fighting and fussing. You’re counting the hours until bedtime, but thinking they’ve had too much TV. Why not change everyone’s attitude by planning a Rainy Day Campout? First, decide where you’re going to go. Will you turn one room in your house into the forest, the lake, the mountains, the ocean, the desert? Things to consider when making your decision: * Nature or ethnic music you might have to help set the scene * Souvenirs from a real trip for added reality * Artwork by the children that could be used for scenery * Food in the house for an appropriate dinner menu * Real camping gear you could use: inner tubes, beach chairs, camping stools, picnic basket, cooler, etc. If it’s still quite early in the day, you might want to plan simple art projects in another room. Think of things the kids can draw or make that will fit the setting. Or make construction paper trees to hang on the walls. Are there props the kids can find in their rooms with toys or furniture? Perhaps you’ll want them to make signs for the campground: “Outhouse” or “Restrooms,” “Trail to Summit,” “Picnic Area,” “Swimming Area - No Boats,” etc. Next, get the kids involved. “How would you like to go on a Rainy Day Campout? I thought we’d go to the Redwood Forest. I’ll get the tent and the food ready. You kids need to pack for the trip.” Tell them they need: * pajamas for tonight * clean clothes for tomorrow * their toothbrush * their sleeping bag (or blankets if they don’t have one) * their pillow * appropriate clothing for the destination (i.e. swim suit and towel for the lake, hiking shoes for the mountains) Allow your children to pack their own backpack or suitcase. You can suggest items such as flashlights, hats, sweatshirts, sunglasses, a stuffed animal to sleep with, etc. Not only will this keep them busy while you prepare the room, but it will also give them practice in packing. If your child can read, you can make him a list. Decide on a meeting place when everyone is ready (Ellen’s bedroom, the kitchen, etc.).

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Now that they are busy for a few minutes, you can start preparing the room. You might need to push furniture back against the walls or put the rocking chair in another room. If you have a fireplace you might plan to build a fire later on. Or instead use a small lamp with a sturdy base as the main ingredient for your “campfire.” You could change the look of the room by draping blankets over furniture. Close the blinds or drapes to block everyone’s view of the dismal weather. Set out any scene enhancers (seashells, pine cones, stuffed animals appropriate for the location). Start your nature music at a low volume. You may want to include your children when setting up your camping room, though some might enjoy the surprise of seeing the completed “scene.” Collect, but don’t set up, your camping gear. If you have a two or threeman pop-up tent, it can work well in the house. If not, plan to make a tent using blankets or sheets and chairs and clothespins or safety pins. Meet the kids in the designated meeting room. You might: * ask questions to see if each child packed appropriately * ask how your family goes to the mountains or lake (by car, plane, bike) * talk about how long it takes to get there * talk about what you might see on the way and encourage sound effects * show them their camping destination on a map * have everyone pretend to get into the preferred mode of transportation and “go” on your trip * hike from your vehicle to your “campsite” Make all this as simple or as complicated as you desire as long as your kids continue being interested. Once at the campsite, involve the kids in setting up. Put up the tent. The children could chose their sleeping spots in the tent. Sleeping bags and backpacks can go inside. Pretend you are really at your chosen site. Are you swimming in the lake, picking blackberries, or building sand castles? Kids will love wearing their swimsuit to the pretend lake or using buckets and shovels at the pretend ocean. As evening approaches build your “campfire.” Perhaps you can dispense with all other lights in your house, except flashlights. (No TV allowed!) Prepare your dinner and either eat it around the campfire (you might want a tarp spread first) or at the “picnic” table. Perhaps you have a camping tablecloth you normally use— put it on the table along with paper plates or camping dishes. For dessert make S’Mores. If you don’t have a fireplace,

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use the microwave (recipe below). Or maybe there’s an “Ice Cream Stand” at your beach. Kids can buy ice cream with play money. After dinner the whole family can sit around the campfire singing songs, telling stories, playing simple games. (Use a CD such as “Wee Sing Silly Songs” or a book of stories if you need to.) Perhaps drink hot chocolate and eat popcorn. Does your setting have mosquitoes? Don’t forget to put on the pretend bug repellent. Can you see the stars? What sounds do you hear at night at your site? The swishing of the ocean? The breeze in the trees? An owl? At bedtime have the kids change into their pajamas inside the tent. Once in their sleeping bags, your children may want to talk. Or you may find they are worn out from their exciting day and may fall asleep quickly, leaving you and your spouse to the solitude of the glowing campfire.

MICROWAVE S’MORES! Ingredients: • Honey Graham or Chocolate Graham Crackers • Marshmallows • Chocolate Chips or Chocolate Bars Lay half a graham cracker on a small plate. Spread a few chocolate chips or put a piece of a chocolate bar on the cracker. Put one large marshmallow on top (or about 6 mini-marshmallows). Microwave on high 30-40 seconds until marshmallow swells. (Microwaves vary—you may need to use less or more time.) Marshmallow and chocolate should be melty. Cover with other half of graham cracker and serve. Repeat for other S’Mores. Just like making them over the campfire, this method requires some patience. And a damp wash-cloth might not be a bad idea, either.

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At Kids Village™, your child will gain a love for life-long learning and the self-confidence to pursue his or her dreams. Our innovative curriculum centers around the proven Saxon math and language arts programs and is enhanced with specialty courses in Computers and Science, Arts and Crafts, Music and Drama, History and Foreign Languages, and Kitchen and Nutrition. Our students excel with this well-rounded education and are consistently a year ahead of their peers academically. Come visit us and see why Kids Village™ is raising the standard for what education should be. Contact us today for more information and a list of classes or simply visit us at www.kidsvillage.net

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Games & Fun WORD SEARCH: Thanksgiving Dinner APPLE PIE BROWN CORNUCOPIA CRANBERRY DINNER FAMILY FOOTBALL GRATITUDE GRAVY NAP NOVEMBER ORANGE POTATOES PUMPKIN PIE STUFFING THANKSGIVING TURKEY YAMS

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Games & Fun The Story Game:

RACE CAR & DRIVER

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Go to www.knowonder.com/storygame to learn about this fun and creative game! Collect all the cards from each knowonder!™ issue. Make your own too! (laminate and/or mount on stiff cardstock backing to prolong life of card). Submit your new stories on our website and read stories that others have made up using the Story Game collectors’ cards.

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Distributor Directory Here is a list of some of the places you can go to pick up your monthly FREE COPY of knowonder!â&#x201E;˘ magazine. If you live outside of Utah, we encourage you to view our magazine online each month at www.knowonder.com/magazine, or subscribe to receive a mailed, physical copy. For a complete list of distributors, visit www.knowonder.com/distributors Want your store listed here? Email us at info@knowonder.com

LIBRARIES

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Bingham Library 4834 W 9000 S W Jordan, UT 84081

Hunter 4740 W 4100 S W Valley City, UT 84120

Ogden Valley Library 131 S 7400 E Huntsville, UT 84317

Calvin S. Smith 810 E 3300 S SLC, UT 84106

Kearns 5350 S 4220 W Kearns, UT 84118

Orem 58 North State St. Orem, UT 84057

Columbus 2530 S 500 E SLC, UT 84106

Magna 8339 W 3500 S Magna, UT 84044

Riverton 12877 S 1830 W Riverton, UT 84065

Draper 1136 E Pioneer Rd Draper, UT 84020

Murray 166 E 5300 S Murray, UT 84107

Ruth Vine Tyler 8041 S Wood Street Midvale, UT 84047

Eagle Mountain 1650 E. Stagecoach Run Eagle Mntn, UT 84005

Ogden Library (Main) 2464 Jefferson Ave. Ogden, UT 84401

Sandy 10100 S Petunia Way Sandy, UT 84092

East Milcreek 2266 Evergreen Ave SLC, UT 84109

Ogden Library (N.) 475 E 2600 N Ogden, UT 84414

South Jordan 10673 S Redwood Rd S Jordan, UT 84095

Herriman 13198 S 5600 W Herriman, UT 84096

Ogden Library (S.W.) 1950 W 4800 S Roy, UT 84067

Taylorsville 4870 S 2700 W Taylorsville, UT 84118

Holladay 2150 E Murray Hlldy Rd Holladay, UT 84117

Ogden Library 5568 S Adams Ave. Ogden, UT 84405

West Jordan 1970 W 7800 S W Jordan, UT 84084

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West Valley 2880 W 3650 S W Valley City, UT 84119

Country Heart Crafts 519 West 2600 South Bountiful, UT 84010

Pebbles in my Pocket 6185 S Highland Drive SLC, UT 84121

Whitmore 2197 E Fort Union Blvd. SLC, UT 84121

Dogwood 3855 S 500 W Suite F SLC, UT 84115

Pebbles in my Pocket 1132 S State St Orem, UT 84097

Magna 8339 W 3500 S Magna, UT 84044

Dream Dinners 1140 E Brickyard Rd #28 SLC, UT 84106

Pebbles in my Pocket 779 S Bluff St St George, UT 84770

STORES & SCHOOLS

Imagination Place 1155 E 3300 S SLC, UT 84106

Reuel’s 7960 S 1300 E Sandy, UT 84094

Babinski’s 1324 S. Foothill Dr. SLC, UT 84108

Jordan Meadows 3354 W 7800 S West Jordan, UT 84088

Reuel’s 370 S West Temple SLC, UT 84101

Barnes & Noble 7119 S 1300 E Midvale, UT 84047

Kid’s Village 1641 North State Str. Orem, UT 84057

Reuel’s 2262 E Murray Hlldy Rd Holladay, UT 84117

Buttons ‘N Bows 2600 E 3900 S Holladay, Utah 84124

La Petite 6955 S 2300 E SLC, UT 84121

Richelles Salon & Spa 4699 S Highland Drive SLC, Utah 84117

Buttons ‘N Bows 3343 E 7800 S SLC, Utah 84121

La Petite 2105 E Alta Canyon Dr Sandy, UT 84093

That’s My Room! 2226 S 700 E SLC, UT 84106

Burg Pediatric Dentistry 1030 E 11400 S # 1 Sandy, UT

La Petite 11347 S 1000 E Sandy, UT 84094

The Tutoring Toy 1400 Foothill Dr. SLC, UT 84108

Burg Pediatric Dentistry 1580 E 3900 S # 110 Salt Lake City, UT

Lily Pads & Lullabies 380 North Main Street Centerville, UT 84014

The Winner School 6120 S 2075 E SLC, UT 84121

Burg Pediatric Dentistry 1830 Prospector Ave Park City, UT

Little Cherry Blossom 184 Historic 25th Street Ogden, UT 84401

Burg Pediatric Dentistry 678 E Vine Street #12 Murray, UT

Mom & Me Scrapbking 2199 E 3300 S SLC, Utah 84109

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Amie Rose Colin Kelly

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Lynden Troskie Chris Hedgewick Nathan Nelson Jenni Dillier

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Art Director, Designer Nick George nick@george-design.com

Kay Rose And, of course, a big thanks goes out to all our readers who have supported knowonder! magazine by sending us your own work, or by reading the magazine with your children.

Contributing Editor Shana Galbraith shana@knowonder.com

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