Book Review: That's Not My Dinosaur

Pretty sure this isn't my dinosaur...

 

Those of you who have been following my Blog know that dinosaurs feature prominently in my favourite literature.  So it's no surprise that I am able to formally convey my extreme appreciation for the excellent text that is "That's Not My Dinosaur".

This book is part of the Usborne Touchy-feely series written by Fiona Watt and illustrated by Rachel Wells.  Overall this series is truly spectacular.  Although the theme of the books is similar, each volume has its own unique character and subject. 

The premise of "That's Not My Dinosaur" is that you have a dinosaur (yes please!), but you can't find it (oh no!) and you have to check out a bunch of dinosaurs (yes please!) to determine whether those dinosaurs are yours (one is!).  Most of the dinosaurs are pretty easy to rule out because (for example), their horns are too rough, or their teeth are too bumpy.  I mean COME ON, as if my dino is going to have such bumpy teeth! 

The only drawback here is that the suspense is almost too intense and self-doubt can start to creep in.  Will I ever find my dinosaur?!  What if I don't?!  Will it find a nice family to live with?  Does it have enough to eat?  Are my dinosaur's teeth that bumpy?  Maybe they ARE that bumpy.  I can't remember if I even checked my dinosaur's teeth the last time I saw my dinosaur.  Oh my gosh, does my dinosaur even HAVE teeth?!  I don't have teeth.  WHY DON'T I HAVE TEETH?!

Bottom Line: WHEEE!!!  A real page turner, so long as you don't overthink it...

Activity Review: Clapping

Are those hands or are those hummingbird wings?!

 

I've started to notice that I can do stuff.  Like actually accomplish things.  One of those things is making Mamamamama and Dadada cheer "Yaaayyy!" and clap on command.  This is useful for so many reasons, the first and foremost of which is that it makes me super super happy.  The key to getting a cheerclap out of either or both of Mamamamama and Dadada is really quite straightforward, and I'll share it with you here, dear reader, because everyone should be able to elicit cheerclaps whenever they need a sweet pick-me-up (read: NON-STOP).

The secret is: clap your own hands together.  

That's it!  Seems too good to be true doesn't it?!  It isn't.  It's real, and it's that easy.

I figured this out just the other day and I'm not kidding, any time I clap my hands together Mamamamama and Dadada cheerclap along with me.  It's so delightful I can't even handle it.

Here are my of tips for executing the perfect clap:

Take each of your hands and bring them together enthusiastically several times while maintaining eye contact with your Mamamamama or Dadada.  We're not looking for perfect technique here.  Your enthusiasm will make up for whatever you lack in skill and accuracy.  Smile a lot and look especially proud of yourself each time you manage to bring those hands together.  I guarantee your day will be full of cheerclaps aplenty.

Bottom Line: WHEEE!!!  Yaaaayyyy!  Yaaaayyy! Yaaayyy!  Yaaayyy!  Yaaaaaayyy!  Yaaaaayyy!  Yaaaaayyyy!  Yaaaayyy!  Yaaayy!  Yaaaaaayyyy!  Yaaayyy!  Yaayy!  Yaaaaayyyy!  And so on.

Destination Review: The Doctor

Not the actual very sharp something.

 

Apparently "Going to the Doctor" is something us babies are pretty much obligated to do.  It seems to happen with more frequency than I'd like (I'd prefer never) and with little to no warning.  I still haven't figured out why we have to "Go to the Doctor". 

Sometimes we go so that the Really Really Really Nice Lady can tell me how cute I am and then jab me with a very sharp something.  What the what?!  If you are a really really really nice lady, why are you forced to work as a Baby Jabber?  Can't you find employment as a Swimming Teacher (my Swimming Teacher is a really really really nice lady and the most unpleasant thing she has to do is put my face in the water) or a Person Who Carries a Briefcase (Mamamamama carries a briefcase and is frankly the nicest lady I know)?! 

Other times we go so that the Relatively Friendly Lady can put me on a "scale" and tell Dadada for the bazillionth time that I am in the "50th percentile".  Apparently this is very important information and Dadada makes sure to call Mamamamama to share the news as soon as we leave the Doctor.  Dadada repeats the things he said to the Relatively Friendly Lady, like "great", "sounds like everything's on track", and "that's encouraging", so I'm guessing the Relatively Friendly Lady is doing some good work as a Scale Operator.  The only feedback the Really Really Really Nice Lady gets is when I purposefully give her my best "I thought you liked me!!?  WHHHYYYYY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!!!!!" eyes.

If the Doctor was to ask me how they could improve on the experience of "Going to the Doctor", I would tell the Doctor that they could use more toys, less jabbing, and more job opportunities for the Really Really Really Nice Lady.

Bottom Line: WAAAH!!!!  The only benefit of "Going to the Doctor" from what I can tell, is that I can safely remove Baby Jabber from my list of potential careers (Cat, Swimming Teacher, Scale Operator and Person Who Carries a Briefcase are still on the list).

Destination Review: The Park

So this is what it sounds like, when doves fly.

Back when I was a young baby half my age, Mamamamama and Dadada would occasionally place me in a motorized swing at home.  There was a lot wrong with that swing, namely that it (a) wasn't Mamamamama or Dadada, and (b) came with sound effects akin to either sloshing around in a small mud puddle or disturbing a large group of small yet surprisingly irate birds (normally I love birds, but I felt under imminent threat from that flock).  So imagine my surprise when just this past weekend, Mamamamama and Dadada made the bold decision to put me in a swing at "The Park". 

The Park is an interesting place.  Lots of people frequent The Park - people my size, people just slightly bigger, people much bigger, and furry people that bark and run around a lot.

Once I had been lulled into a false sense of security that we were just "going for a walk" in a place with less cars and more benches, I was stealthily transferred from the comfort of my stroller to a seat suspended thousands of feet above the ground. 

I have to admit, I was skeptical at first...even a little nervous...but then...Mamamamama placed her hand behind me and gave me a little push.  The rush!  The freedom!  The joy!!  All of a sudden my affinity for birds made sense - I was flying and it was amazing!  I haven't laughed that much since one of our cats walked into my room last week (for those of you who haven't seen a cat walk into a room, it's HYSTERICAL).

Bottom line: WHEEEEeeeeee....!  WHEEEeeeee....!  WHEEEeeeee....!

Food Review: Prunes

If only I had the dexterity to open this bag.

Eating is probably my favourite thing to do.  I love tasting food, toys, non-food and non-toys.  Banana, cucumber, mango, spinach, and the sleeve of whatever-shirt-I-happen-to-be-wearing-that-day are some of my all time faves.  With all the delicious things to eat out there, you might think it would be impossible to choose just one absolute favourite - but you'd be wrong, because: PRUNES.   

Have you guys tried these things?  I mean really sat down and savoured one?  Because they are amazing.  The texture, the flavour, the colour, the mess...  It's pretty much exquisite.

Last month Mamamamama and Dadada went on a "date" to celebrate Dadada's birthday.  Apparently they visited some sort of fancy restaurant and couldn't stop raving about it.  I can only imagine the dishes they were able to enjoy.  The thought of it (and the imminent tooth budding on my lower gums) makes me drool.  Prunes ceviche?  Prunes cooked sous-vide?  Prune clafouti?  Prunes rabarabaraba*?

Bottom line: WHEEE!  No matter how they're prepared, prunes are fine dining at its best.

*Note: rabarabaraba is in fact not a cooking technique or type of dish, but an eating style that involves smearing whatever you've been served all over your high chair tray and then leaning over and smooshing your mouth into it.  Highly recommended.

Music Review: Raffi - Singable Songs for the Very Young




He sings AND he paints?!

Here's the thing - I love music, just love it.  I'm particularly a fan of hip hop circa late 80s early 90s (if you haven't already jolly jumped to Bust A Move, it's a MUST).  So let me tell you, when I find an album I love, it puts a real spring in my tentative parent-assisted step.

That brings me to what I can only describe as my album of the year: Raffi's Singable Songs for the Very Young.  "But wait!" I can hear you say, "That album was released in 1976, before either of your parents were even born!"  True enough, dear reader, but it's new to me, and I'd venture to say it is so good it'd win album of the year EVERY year from 1976 to whatever year it is now (I'm gonna guess 3058 based on how old Mamamamama and Dadada appear to be).

"Brush Your Teeth" is reason alone to buy this album.  With lyrics like "Ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch ch", it's clear Raffi is a genius with excellent oral hygiene.  You can sing that line to me anytime, even in the middle of a "that spoonful of baby breakfast cereal is not getting into my mouth fast enough" meltdown, and it will bring a smile to my face. 

Bottom line: WHEEE!!  Sometimes music just speaks to you, and sometimes it speaks to your soul.  Raffi gets me, and I get Raffi, and so should you.