Here’s our 19 month old’s first 100 words. Roughly in order of appearance. She started to speak with any coherence in November and the last two months have been amazing.
It’s interesting (to us at least) that verbs, adjectives and (especially) prepositions are starting to appear – enabling lovely little sentence fragments such as “legs hot”, “daddy up” and “boobies out”
41. Lele (ukulele)
54. Oh no
81. Nap (nappy)
86. But = tummy button
92. Lila (a friend)
93. Suit (sleep suit)
96. Mag (magnet)
A great book for babies/toddlers is one that is fun to read again and again. Here’s a list of the ones our 15 month old seems to enjoy the most – often with smiles of recognition on certain pages, or pointing to favourite images. They’re all board books to handle the chewing era.
In no particular order:
Horton hears a Hoo
I love the rhythm of the words in this. It bounces along quite nicely and is completely hatstand in conceit. His use of the word ‘lad’ makes me feel qiote sure Seuss has (or should have) northern roots.
A Squash and a squeeze
A fun tale that feels like it ought to have been around for centuries. There is an underlying message about not being greedy, but it’s very subtle and not at all hectoring.
A book for bedtime, this is about 60 years old and – I think – better known in North America. The pace always mesmerises our little one and she invariably sits through it without getting fidgety.
Mog the forgetful cat
Again, this one is usually a complete read-through, which is amazing given the images are pretty plain and the text is plentiful. But the story is lovely and there is the always enjoyable appearance of a big, furry, striped tiger in the middle
Brown Bear, brown bear, what do you see
Simple, hypnotic, colourful and enjoyable to chant.
Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy
It won’t be long before you know the names and order of the doggies who go for an adventure. A stone cold classic – and our first exposure to the toughest tom in town.
The #1 best kids book we’ve found so far. It’s read every night without fail. A brilliant story, fun to read and full of imagery and wit.
The very hungry caterpillar
A beautiful tale. It was only on the third reading that I realised I’d had this read to me as a kid.
Hairy Maclary and Zachary Quack
More Hairy adventures. The wonderfully cyclical tale of a sensitive dog and a keen, but helpful duck. Some amazing writing too – the pace of the running is brilliantly told.
Slinky Malinki Early Bird
More from the Maclary stable. This time the cameo cat gets a spinoff. A funny early morning tale that all cat owners will identify with
The Paper Dolls
Makes me cry every time. The bittersweet tale of loss and nostalgia. Just amazing.
Spot Loves his dad
Simple and lovely
The tiger who came to tea
A total classic which, I believe anyway, is actually the recounting of Sophie’s dream about a tiger that she’s prompted to tell when she sees a stripey cat in the street.
The snowy day
Didn’t like this at first, but I’ve come to love the flow and wonder of this American tale of a magical snowy day.
Pantone colour books
These are six super simple, short books about colour. Each page has an item in that colour and our one year old loves them every time.
More classic Donaldson – with a contrived but clever twist
Room on the broom
I just love doing the witch voice (and not just when reading this book)
Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just tribute to the Memory of
Boatswain, a Dog
who was born in Newfoundland May 1803
and died at Newstead Nov. 18th, 1808
When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn,
Pass on – it honours none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one — and here he lies.
I ought to vote to Leave. In my middle age, I’m sceptical of bureaucracy and a believer in free enterprise. I love the plurality of culture in Europe but I’m wary of hitching our economies together, three-legged race style.
But I’m also afraid of rising nationalism, isolationism and blaming other people for our problems. Let’s not retreat and hide bitterly indoors, it’s better to contribute to our community and change things for the better.