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Dapoppins




I'd had Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible No Good,  Very Bad Day on my mind for a long time as one of my favorite books to review and share.   Published in 1972 it's a book I read to my own kids, and a book I remember from my childhood. If you didn't know, Disney made a movie based on Alexander which will be out soon.

Absolutely Positively Alexander is a great collection of three of the Alexander stories.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day

Alexander, Who Used to Be Rich Last Sunday

Alexander, Who's Not (Do you hear me? I mean it!) Going to Move

I was looking on Wikipedia and actually discovered that there is one more Alexander story I've never seen before and now must find: Alexander, Who Is Trying His Best To Be the Best Boy Ever. 

Judith Viorst captures the attitude of a families precocious, active youngest son perfectly. I recognize this boy because many of my Nanny jobs were with little boys, who grew up to become fun, active little boys who sometimes had bad days.  I know this because I raised three boys of my own and have my own Alexander.  



Her writing style emulates the petulance and exasperation of one whose day started bad and isn't getting better with an ending that offers just enough hope to carry us through to the next day.  All three stories in the compilation mirror that same theme. Alexander is a kid whose glass is not only half empty, but when things start to look good, something comes along to make them turn down again -yet at the end of the story he's always lead to a realization that it's not ALL bad after all.

I'm pretty sure that a book written like this would a hard time finding a publisher in today's market. Not because of the theme of course.  There are loads of grumpy kids books available at the library.   The style of the book, which absolutely embodies the voice of a smart, articulate boy between the ages of eight and eleven, is so out of fashion in children's picture books. In the opening page of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day, young Alexander wakes up and uses 62 words in one first person sentence to create the setting for the entire story. 

Sixty Two Words! One sentence! First page! You may not know but let me tell you.  That breaks every rule of writing Children's book created in the last twenty years.  

I am having a hard time not inserting sarcastic comments here about those stupid rules, but I just wanted you to know they were floating around in my head.  I'm using a great deal of self control to keep them from streaming down to my fingers and into this post. 



,Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day   has been in continuous print since 1972. You can find Alexander in every library in the country.  You can find Alexander in most schools across the nation.  Plus there is a T.V. adaptation made in 1990 and a couple of theater adaptations and now an upcoming Disney adaption.

This is a book that will appeal to school age boys and girls because they have all felt as Alexander feels, like the downtrodden, misunderstood, I- tried-my-best-and-failed, kid.

  
"I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I told everybody.  No one even answered."

It's easy to read aloud because Alexander's personality shines strongly and every line flows easily.  It's fun to read because Alexander is a smart kid who loves big words and isn't afraid to string them together into sentences full of emotion. Children emphasize with him because they have been him. 

This book is a great discussion opener for feelings and attitudes for school age children.  Boys, who might have trouble expressing themselves or describing "why" they feel picked on or defeated, might be able to see themselves in Alexander and open the door for some pretty important conversations. 

I highly recommend "Absolutely Positively Alexander," as a bedtime storybook, an after school storybook, and a quiet time storybook.  I'd share with four through six year olds while sitting down to mealtime (captive audience) and watch it grab their attention (even though they don't have long attention spans,) and I share it seven year olds and older during quiet times and bedtimes.  






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Many thanks to my blog designer. Since I screwed things up trying to update my links on my own, she came to my rescue (per her usual habit) and returned my blog to it's former beauty.

I am glad someone is reading though this after putting in all the effort to get it down on paper-er cyber paper anyway. (Feel free to offer a critique of my writing. Are the thoughts flowing freely? Is it interesting? Are you bored, and just skimming to the end to see what happens? Have I made a lot of grammar errors? Have I managed to create mildly entertaining word pictures?) My best girl friend says yours truly is a competent writer. I will admit a certain love of the creative process, however I rather doubt my talent. I know you all just keep coming back because I visit you for your information, your fantastic sense of humor, and the encouraging friendships of the global community. It's just a reciprocal thing, right? (Not that I have a problem with the polite return visit.)

Tuesday, August 18th 199-.
I had just turned 30 years old, been married two years, and there I am, flat on my back, feet in the air, waiting for the baby to come out. We didn't know if baby would be a boy or a girl, and were prepared with two names. One of the nurses thought for sure it was a girl, since they are so troublesome at these things.
I was still very tired and not quite myself. Focused on the job still waiting to be done. I could feel the contractions, waves of building pressure. The desire for no more pain was paramount in my mind but one shot of the epidural was all I received. Even now it seems like a weakness. (Foolish, I know, but there it is.) I was checked again, and Thank the Lord above, I was dilated to a ten.
There was movement in the room, bustling bodies. My husband woke up. My Grandmother the Duchess came in, she answered the phone. My mom, calling from out of state to check on me. Phone calls had been made during my stay in the hospital, but all of those inane conversations are very dim now. I had a list, attached to my birth plan regarding who to call and when.
This part is all blurry. My legs held by a nurse and my husband, bending me in half. My Grandma on the phone to my mom. The midwife telling me it was time to push. The introduction of a new kind of pain, previously unknown yet just as powerful. My utter helplessness, a prisoner to my body.
How can something so incredibly painful, so singularly vulnerable, be so astoundingly beautiful?
I screamed and I yelled. Even though the books tell you not to. I did it though my clenched teeth. I believe this is when I broke a blood vessel on my face, a tiny on near my mouth that wasn't there before. I bore down into each powerful wave of a contraction, pushing down on a tearing, burning pain. My Grandma awed. My husband crying. Everyone in the hospital could hear me scream,"Lord help me NOW!"
The baby's head came out.
I could hear my mom's tinny voice screaming on the phone. "What's happening?! What's happening?!"
I pushed and pushed and pushed. And then I was ready to be done. I got up on my elbows. "I want to go home now."
The midwife said, "You need to push this baby out now!"
"The baby isn't out yet? Why isn't the baby out yet?"
"Push NOW." Her voice filled with urgency.
Once more I thought. Then I am done.
Once more was all it took. At 4:30 P.M on a Tuesday my son was born. They placed him on my deflated bulge of a belly. He was purple/blue. We rubbed at him and cooed. I can't remember if he cried. Selfishly, I only remember my husbands tears, the feel of that small 8pound 9oz bundle, the smell of the hospital.
It was such an amazing experience. I had to repeat it twenty months later.
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