Jean Van Leeuwen's Tales of Oliver Pig helped me get through the early years of what Simcha is calling Babyland. Oliver Pig has a baby sister named Amanda. Peter has a baby sister named Susan. Sometimes, Oliver and Amanda drive their mother to tears. Sometimes, Peter and Susan drove me to tears.
But every rainy day, Oliver's mother made oatmeal raisin cookies. Every rainy day, I or one of my piglets makes any kind of cookies that does not involve raisins, and then we watch telly. (Because rainy days are so very British.) All day.
Right now my piglets are the middle of a Monk marathon, but it used to be Shirley Temple marathons, or Davy Crockett marathons, or Andy Griffith marathons.
Susan has spent the last few hours running between the den and the kitchen to switch out pans of PW's Malted Milk Chocolate Chip Cookies. To think, she used to be the baby sister who could only say, "Gaa."
If you've never read Tales of Oliver Pig, or Tales of Amanda Pig, or Oliver the Mighty Pig, or Amanda Pig on Her Own, or any of the dozen or so other titles about these pigs, you're missing out. And so are your children.
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