Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

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This post is a part of my “Board Book Beauty – Savoring the small as I read to my toddler” series. To see all of the posts in the series, go here.

Our board book library grew by leaps and bounds when Abby was born, which only goes to show how well our family and friends know us. We added several fun titles to our collection: Eloise Wilkin Stories and Little Blue Truck, Prayer for a Child and All of Baby, Nose to Toes, Sweet Baby Feet and Jammy Dance and Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.

All of these books were new to me – and therefore, new to Katie – with the exception of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. We’d both read that one; I’d seen it in the library a few months back and, struck by childhood memories, grabbed it on a whim. Katie loved the bright colors and fun rhythm, and we read it over and over again in the few weeks we had it on loan. In the days after I returned it, she requested “Chick Boom” several times and was always disappointed and confused to hear we no longer had it.

Imagine her excitement, then, to be given her very own copy! Mine, too, when it comes down to it.

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom joins the list of books that stick out in my memory from story time at school. It’s a short and distinguished list: Love You Forever (though I’ll state the unpopular opinion that, now that I’m an adult, I find this book slightly creepy), Thomas’ Snowsuit, and Harold and the Purple Crayon with Mrs. Lehl, who taught me from first through third grade, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in Mrs. Zachry’s 4th grade class.

I don’t know why I remember these particular titles when many others have been forgotten. Perhaps it was the enthusiasm with which they were read, the way my teachers’ enjoyment of the written word came through. Perhaps there was something in the stories that sparked my imagination in some unique way. Perhaps they were shared on those perfect days when my young mind was primed to pay attention. Who knows? What I do know is this: I remember these books, and they hold special meaning for me, as do the teachers who first shared them with me.

Mrs. Lehl and Mrs. Zachry are just two of a long list of teachers and mentors whose love for learning and for reading – whose love for me – helped to tend and water the seeds planted at home. They encouraged my own love for such things, something for which I am forever grateful.

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This Thing Called Life

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